


Thinking Makes It So

by TheHangedMan317



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Child Soldiers, F/M, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor canon divergence, Past Rape/Non-con, Seriously What Is Tagging Please Help, Slavery, Tevinters Accidentally Being Dicks, Tevinters Not Accidentally Being Dicks, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 85,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHangedMan317/pseuds/TheHangedMan317
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just a job, or what was beginning to count as one in the sorry excuse for a life she was now leading. Honestly Ella had begun to expect that nothing would ever change. Of course, the Breach puts a hole in that theory, so to speak. As does the glowing green mark on her hand. Really, will wonders never cease?</p><p>The newly dubbed Herald of Andraste, however, doesn't exactly enjoy the spotlight suddenly thrust upon her. Just like everyone else, she has secrets. Unlike everyone else, her secrets have a potential for tearing apart the fledgling Inquisition at the seams. Hopefully this thing can get off the ground before everyone from Ferelden to Tevinter realizes that the girl they're currently prostrating to is an ex-slave with a questionable past. And honestly, she isn't so sure about the "ex".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Job

**Author's Note:**

> First things first, this is my first fanfiction, but not my first piece of writing. Second things second (as they generally are) this entire endeavor is more of a character exercise than anything else. I might do a couple more iterations with others, but this is a sort of test run. Feedback of any kind would be greatly appreciated, though I would prefer it more along the lines of constructive criticism, but in the end I guess its whatever floats you boat.
> 
> A little explanation, but not enough to give too much away about the plot: Ella Filenkov is a rather dear character of mine, although she might appear a bit Mary-Sue-ish at first. Give her a chance; I'm sure you'll love her. Or at least have something other than apathy. The main problem with her is that, since she is originally modern, I've had to stretch some things, so in my mind she originally comes from 'modern times'/'earth', although it's not really important to the story. I have a reason for it, trust me, but I don't think it'll come up and it happened long before the Breach.
> 
> This is probably too long of a note. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

There was a moment of confusion when Ella forgot exactly what it was she was trying to do. Fighting through the haze of drugs that always seemed to leech its way into her mind, she looked around at the throng of bodies once more, pressing against each other in a lively and artificial display of friendship. Orlesians. She hated Orlesians. Her head pounded. No, she decided. At this particular point in time, she was inclined to hate everyone.

 

Guard duty, that was it. Definitely. There was a tug at her collar, not on it but _in_ it in the usual uncomfortable manner. It told her to stay close to the man. She forgot his name. It didn’t really matter; they were all the same. _All the same, all the same…_

 

Ah, crap, she was drifting again. The collar reminded her to focus with a painful jolt, and she resisted the by now familiar urge to rub her neck. It would do more harm than good, she knew.

 

The man was moving again –Marcus? Magnus? Mark?- and so she moved too, a shadow, but better, because she had knives and fists and teeth. Shadows didn’t have those things, oh no, because they were shadows and shadows- Dear god that stung. A growl stirred in her throat as the collar attempted to zap her back into focus. Right. Guard duty.

 

She scanned the room with a practiced eye, picking out the mercenaries from the politicians, the mages from the Templars - _mages_? Ella bristled. No one had told her about mages. Actually, she mused, no one had told her anything. Funny how that worked. Through the drug-induced fog, she could barely remember murmurings of a Conclave, something to do with the mage-templar war. She hadn’t really cared to lock it into place in her memory; clumsy, but it hadn’t seemed important at the time. Perspective, she reminded herself. Need to keep perspective. Of course it was important; it was a war for fuck's sake.

 

She moved closer to the man –was it Martin? Maybe it was Martin- and tried her best to appear disinterested in the conversation around her. Scraps reached her and were dismissed; formalities, inquiries into health, the family, etc. Unimportant. All the while she kept one eye on the crowd bustling around them, up into the temple for the Conclave to start. A horned head emerged, leading a group of what were clearly mercenaries. They didn’t need to blend, didn’t want to. It was always better for them to be seen, always better to avert the conflict before it happened, especially if you were that big, that imposing, that obviously and logic-defyingly strong-

 

Another zap. Ella managed not to wince. She, on the other hand, well, she was a completely different story. When shit went down, and it always did, you could count on Ella to keep you alive and the other guys… not alive. Damn, these drugs were really doing a number on her. What did they give her? Didn’t they want her in fighting condition? They should have known that she didn’t need the drugs anymore; the collar was enough.

 

She glanced at the man –you know what? Going with Martin- and saw with narrowed eyes how he glanced worriedly in her direction, hands wringing, his obvious discomfort betrayed by the very quaver in his voice. Pathetic. The Game would eat him alive. And yet he must be a noble, or at least the son of one, in order to warrant her protection. He must have ordered the drugs; extra guarantee of safety and all that. Why hadn’t he just hired mercs, then? Ella earned another zap, which she admitted was deserved. She was way off task, and they were already under the gaping and admittedly impressive arches of the temple.

 

The crowed thinned slightly as people took seats and order could reign in the rabble. Martin sat in an unobtrusive spot, near enough to hear but not quite close enough to be of notice. Ella allowed herself to wrinkle her nose in frustration before positioning herself right behind him, hands hovering over her knives with as much nonchalance as she could muster; an impressive display. She had had a lot of practice. Now, what she didn’t understand, she decided after the long list of introductions and formalities and 'thank you's began to grow tedious, was why she was guarding someone so obviously unimportant? His family must be very wealthy, if there was no non-monetary gain to be had here. It just seemed so out of character for her master to put her in this position. Oh, maybe that was it. Did he want her uncomfortable? There were other ways to do that…

 

Her eyes darted up as she caught a flash of movement. A man rushed out of the room, hurriedly pulling his cloak over his head. _None of our business_ the collar seemed to hum, a warning in its tune. Ella was inclined to disagree. Everything here was her business, it was only natural as a-

 

“Guard,” hissed Martin. Ella smoothly leaned over, offering an ear. “I want a drink.”

 

Internally, she sighed. Normally this display would warrant some suspicion, but given that this was about the 27th time this overgrown child had asked her for something so mundane she was willing to bet that he honestly wanted refreshment. She stared at him, hoping that he would be a tad more specific.

 

“Are you deaf? _Now_.”

 

Pursing her lips, Ella stood. She repressed the desire to sweep into an obnoxiously elaborate bow and decided that she would instead bring him the most alcoholic beverage she could find. Maybe drunkenly rambling in front of the representatives of Orlais and Ferelden combined would teach him some manners. Or get him executed. Either way.

 

It was surprisingly difficult to navigate the temple, and the potent although admittedly fading drugs combined with the exhaustion of standing on watch through the night for the last few days meant that she soon found herself very, very lost. Almost hopelessly so.

 

The collar tingled on her neck and she could almost hear its laughter. _Yeah, alright, laugh it up_ , she thought irritably. _We’re in this together_. The tingling lessened, but it did not completely die down.

 

Room after room revealed nothing of interest save broken furniture and dust that hadn’t been swept in centuries. Immediately Ella was struck with the realization that a drink should not be this hard to find, but there was nothing more to do. So she kept wandering aimlessly, hoping to find something that would point the way. Suddenly, she heard voices.

 

Thanking every god that came to mind Ella went off at a brisk trot towards the sounds, slowing down slightly when she realized that the voices appeared to be raised. A fight? She drew a knife. The collar started, sputtered, shocking her with a million pinpricks of electricity. _What did I do?_ It did not respond, instead seeming to be struggling with something. The hair on the back of her neck tingled, rising ever so slightly. She could taste magic on her tongue. Shit. The collar never seemed to do well with a sudden influx of magical energy.

 

Wait, a sudden influx of… that couldn’t be good. She crept forward, straining to make out what was being said and where the sound was coming from. Finally she reached a door that appeared to be the origin, but she still could not distinguish any words. The magic was definitely coming from there, though, a fact made painfully evident by the collar’s excitable shocking and burning. It almost sizzled when she touched open the door, throwing her off the slightest bit. Ella shook her head, fighting through the pain. She opened the door. The collar _popped_. She thought she heard herself shout, but that seemed ridiculous.

 

_________________

 

 

As she awoke, she felt the chains on her wrist. Her initial reaction was panic, raw and burning at her mind, clawing at her throat. She forced it down, locked it in place with a will of hard steel. Think rationally. What’s the last thing you remember?

 

_I… don’t._

 

She couldn’t remember anything, it was all a blur of color and sound that made her woozy. With that she realized that the drugs had all but worn off. _The drugs…_ Ah, yes. She remembered. A little. How she had ended up in chains, however, that was another story. Ella decided it would be best to maintain the appearance of unconsciousness and hoped that her momentary lapse of control betrayed nothing to whoever had imprisoned her. _Compartmentalize. Assess the situation, the damage._

 

All her limbs seemed to be in place, so that was something. Past that, well, she felt like shit. Bruised, battered, beaten to hell. It was not encouraging, especially seeing as how she couldn’t remember what had caused it. Slowly, carefully, she tensed and stretched her toes, her feet, her legs, working up muscle by muscle in a cautious and meticulous examination of her body. Her legs were not broken; left side was a little bruised, especially around the hip. Up her torso she felt that her ribs on her left side were sore and was sure that they _had_ been broken, even if they weren’t now. All this indicated a fall, and a particularly nasty one at that. She was a little surprised; usually she wasn’t so clumsy as to take a fall on one side like that.

 

Apart from some bruising, her right arm felt fine. Of course it did, she reasoned. The fall was on the left side. Mentally readying herself, Ella began an assessment of the left arm. Shoulder was sore, and the pain around the socket indicated that it had been dislocated. Not anymore, though. Someone had popped it back in, which was mildly troubling because who would go through all that trouble just to chain her up again? _Someone with an agenda, that’s who._ She almost scowled, but remember just in time that she was still supposed to be unconscious. Instead she mentally worked her way down the arm, finding that, though it was sore, it was certainly usable. The fall hadn’t damaged it nearly as much as it could have. Bruising, mild abrasions, some stitching. Her wrist, now, that was painful. _Broken?_ No, but throbbing in a way that was downright unnatural. Tentatively she focused on her hand, her palm-

 

It burned, it _burned_ like someone had taken a metal rod, plunged it into flames, and was now pressing it into the center of her palm, twisting the white-hot metal until the flesh shriveled and died. Only worse, so much worse. Twisting, pulsing, raking up her arm into her lungs so that she almost couldn’t breathe-

 

 _Breathe._ She did. The pain subsided to a dull throb, a thousand pinpricks that needled at her palm but did not bring the agony that was before. It was almost like her collar-

 

Her collar. It… was it working? She couldn’t hear it, couldn’t feel it past the rub of leather on her neck. Usually it pulsed, like a heartbeat, like it was alive, but now it felt…

 

“Dead. Everyone who was at the Conclave has perished. And here you are… alive.”

 

Ella started, looking up with eyes that were too-wide, too-afraid. The pain had clearly addled her senses and so she forced her face to smooth, dragged the flesh into a calm disinterest. _Everyone... dead?_ She said nothing.

 

The woman grabbed her hand and Ella couldn’t help but wince. “Explain. This.”

 

Now Ella was vexed. Explain? How was she supposed to explain when she couldn’t remember a thing past that stupid Martin and his stupid drink? How was she supposed to explain when the damned collar wouldn’t even let her say ‘hello’? Effectively, she was a mute. Or at least… she used to be. _The collar is dead._ Could it be?

 

“I… I can’t explain.” Her voice was hoarse, weak and raspy from underuse but it was _hers._ There were no words for that. None. She felt like she could cry, if she had the energy to spare.

 

“What do you mean you _can’t_?” Anger, yes, that was anger. Raw and powerful. This woman, she had lost something, or someone. The Conclave. If what she said was true…

 

“What do you mean ‘everyone’s dead’?” she shot back. Speaking felt good; too good. The words tumbled out like she was afraid she’d be struck dumb any second. “That’s impossible. There were soldiers, mages, mercenaries… someone must have survived.”

 

“Yes. Someone did survive. You.” She nearly spat the words, and Ella recoiled at the sheer amount of venom in her voice. She forced herself to look up, to examine. Heavy armor, Seeker emblem – _oh shit_ -, natural fighting stance… aggressive, straightforward, loyal? Loyal. She seemed… familiar somehow. Not in the way one would find family familiar, but in the way one sees a face in the crowd, thought that he forgot it, and then is confronted with that very same face later.

 

“You’re right hand. The Right Hand. Cassandra Pentaghast.” There was no question in her voice, or awe. It was a statement, a fact. As was: “You’re wasting your time. I remember nothing.”

 

“You’re lying!” Cassandra snarled, and had Ella might have seen her life flash briefly before her eyes had she been a different kind of person. A soft hand landed on Cassandra’s shoulder, and Ella got the distinct impression of a dragon being reigned in by a gentle touch. The Left Hand. She was easy to identify, once Ella’s mind was already there.

 

“We need her, Cassandra.”

 

They  _needed_ her? Ella did not like the sound of that at all. She panicked a little, fidgeting against the chains. She almost felt like she could get out of them, given just a few more secon-

 

With a loud and rather dramatic _clank_ , Cassandra released her, helped her up. It was odd, thought Ella distantly, being face to face with someone so fucking important. “What happened? What do you think I did?” Ella asked.

 

“It will be easier to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice, we made it through. Wonderful. Good job team, round of applause, don't forget to pat yourself on the back. Updates will probably be sporadic, but frequent. This is turning out to be a fun side project, and I tend to work quickly on things that are fun. I might occasionally revisit old pages to edit.
> 
> Once again, I would be thrilled if you dropped a comment with any suggestions, as this is my first fanfic and my first time legitimately using this site. Thanks for reading!


	2. Dancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the heart-gripping sequence we all know and love: the journey to the Breach. Ah, how it taxes us. I've tried to avoid going into too much detail so we can get right on to the fun stuff, but as this is mainly a character exercise, I wanted to catch Ella's reactions to certain situations in-game.
> 
> Ella swears when she's frustrated. Like, a lot. Not particularly eloquent, but she tends to fall back on it as a coping mechanism.

 

Oh sweet fuck what in fuck’s name was that?

 

Cassandra called it the breach. Ella, in her own private dialogue, preferred to call it the fucking demon shithole. Fuck. Either one was fine, of course.

 

And she was going _towards_ it. Like a fucking maniac. Because evidently she didn’t possess the proper amount of self-preservation that would inhabit, oh, a _normal fucking human being_. No, it had to be, ‘let’s go towards the magic fucking hole in the sky that literally _shits demons_.' Yeah, sounds great.

 

This amount of sarcasm was unhealthy. Ella breathed. _In… out… in… out._ She needed to compartmentalize. Focus on what was important. Breach: bad. That was easy enough. But what was more ‘bad’ than the Breach itself was the people it would kill if left unchecked. So she needed to think in utilitarian terms. If she needed to die to save the world, well, that was fine.

 

It wasn’t the death, though, was it? Ella’s thoughts turned grim as she raced to keep up with Cassandra. They were nearing a bridge with a rather excellent view of the Breach. No, it wasn’t the death. Honestly death seemed rather lovely. The demons, it was the demons. Fuck those.

 

Oh, and fuck this. She glanced up just as the universe decided to kick her while she was down and the giant _fucking_ hole in the sky lobbed a giant _fucking_ boulder at them. Ella felt time slow as the bridge collapsed beneath them. This time she managed to land correctly, rolling into the impact with a quiet grunt. She noted with approval that Cassandra did the same. It was good to know that the Divine hired competent people. Well, had hired. Ella sighed. The sheer amount of death that had wormed its way into her life was rapidly losing its novelty.

 

Demons, right. The thing crawled its way out of the ground with a vengeance, fixating on the first thing it could kill. At least it didn’t seem to be focused on possessing anybody. For now. Ella shuddered, perfectly happy to obey Cassandra’s command to stay put as the warrior charged on ahead. Normally she’d feel guilty at missing a fight, but the woman was definitely capable and in no need of assistance.

 

Shit, shit, _shit._ The ground bubbled in front of her as if the rock was boiling, molten chunks stone tinged with an unnatural green oozing from the ground as if it were an infected gash upon the crust of the earth. There was a sharp whine as a single clawed hand lunged from the globs of seething rock to dig its talons into the dirt. Ella could have frozen then and there; but that was not something she was accustomed to doing. She shoved the fear in a box and buried that box in the depths of her mind. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted two daggers, ripe for the taking. Very convenient. With a duck and a roll she slipped past the thing to grab the newly found weapons. The shade bellowed as it dragged itself into the real world.

 

“Let’s dance, demon,” Ella snarled, twirling the daggers expertly as she widened her stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of her toes. Really, it was good to have her blood pumping again.

 

Naturally Cassandra was upset that the person who was supposed to be a prisoner had gotten hold of weapons, but she quickly conceded that it would be difficult to proceed as an unarmed walking target. Very reasonable, Ella was liking her more and more. There was simply the small issue of the prisoner-jailor relationship they had. It nagged at her, as such things would. And her collar was heavy against her neck, still limp and lifeless. Thankfully the scarf she had worn to cover it remained intact, or every lowlife in Haven would know that she was a-

 

_Wow, Ella. No need to use the ‘s’ word, right? Right._

 

Denial was ridiculous, but it could be important, at least temporarily. With a sigh, she realized that this was the exact same nonsense that she had been telling herself for years. It was always easier to submit, but did she ever learn? The scars pointed to a definitive ‘no’.

 

A few swiftly neutralized demons later and Ella could hear the distinct sound of a skirmish on the biting wind. Tightening her grip on her dagger she forged on ahead, giving no heed to Cassandra’s warning. This was a battlefield, albeit a poor excuse for one. This was where she belonged, not by the side of some second-rate noble’s son who wouldn’t be able to see her worth if it punched him square in the jaw. All right, so maybe the drugs hadn’t completely worn off. _Less thinking, more stabbing._

 

There was no preamble to her attack, no artistry; she _lunged_ at the first demon unfortunate enough to catch her eye, effectively ripping it to shreds in a matter of seconds. After that things became more complicated. Ducking, dodging, twisting, twirling into strikes and parries and ripostes with the natural grace of a lifetime of practice. A particularly nasty shade managed to catch her in the side with an outstretched claw as she barely wrenched her body away on light feet. Grimacing at her own clumsiness, Ella retaliated swiftly and with no mercy, ducking under yet another cumbersome blow and driving upwards with both daggers, arcing in such a way as to slice through the tattered flesh and leathery sinew. The thing collapsed as the sound of an approaching assailant reached her ear. With a snarl Ella spun on the ball of her foot, blades at the ready. Instead of a demon, which she fully expected, she was met with an admittedly startled elf. He raised his hands in a placating motion, and, to his credit, only the faintest sliver of shock wormed its way into his features. She made to turn once more, in order to verify that the battlefield was as clear as the elf seemed to think. Without anyone else to fight, she felt rather lost. As she turned, however, the elf grabbed her hand rather violently.

  
He shouted something, but Ella didn’t even hear it, furious as she was. There was still the red tinge to vision, indicating that she had gotten too enamored with the fight. And it was just a little _skirmish_ , ugh like she was still a child. Desperately fighting to reign in wildly fluctuating emotions, she was not prepared for the elf to unceremoniously thrust her hand towards the cobweb of green light that she had been so successfully ignoring. So much for denial.

 

A cry pushed its way up her throat as her palm throbbed painfully, and she barely managed to strangle the noise. The blistering arc of magic that was now connecting her to this _thing_ that so clearly reeked of the Fade was terrifying and left her struggling to hide both her emotions and the sheer agony that was coursing through her. The thing yanked at her stomach in the oddest and most unpleasant way, dragging her forward but at the same time freezing her to the ground so that the combination of sensations left her feeling like the rope in a brutal game of tug-of-war.

 

Finally, finally, _finally_ Ella felt something slip. It was a hair out of place, a loose thread on fabric. She grabbed it and she _tugged_ , fighting down nausea as the demon-portal closed with a loud and final _snap_. It took every inch of self-control not to sag into the elf who was, annoyingly enough, still holding her hand, appearing to be _examining_ it. She was much to tired for that kind of shit. It took little effort to pull her hand away, but even that  left her woozy. Clutching her still sputtering hand to her chest, Ella glared daggers at the elf only because she suspected real daggers would not go over well with her new Seeker jailor.

 

“Whatever it is that you did, please warn me before you do it again,” Ella nearly spat.

 

Much to her chagrin, the elf appeared amused more than anything else, although there was also a healthy amount of patronizing condescension. Lovely.

 

“I did nothing but point you in the right direction. The rest was your doing,” he said in a calm and unassuming way that only grinded on her nerves. Ella forced herself into a more passive face, but evidently didn’t hide her distaste enough, for the elf continued. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

 

Now that was a loaded statement, but thankfully the dwarf with a strange looking crossbow stepped in to elaborate and, judging by his tone, to diffuse the situation.

 

“By that he means he kept that mark from killing you while you slept,” he says with a winning grin. Oh, this was getting better and better. Ella tried unsuccessfully to suppress her grimace. She turned to the elf.

 

“I suppose I owe you a debt, friend.” The words were forced, as was the smile that accompanied them, but in her state Ella could do nothing but hope that it wasn’t too obvious.

 

“Think nothing of it.” Came the smooth reply. Damn, ten seconds in and she already wanted to punch him in his smug face. It must be the adrenaline, she thought; there hadn’t been much opportunity for a fight before. And the collar was dead. _The collar is dead._ That was making every action exceedingly difficult to control as newfound freedom, predictably, went straight to her head.

 

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” piped the dwarf, sweeping into a low bow. Well, lower. Ella couldn’t help but smile at that. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along.” He shot a look and a wink at Cassandra, who appeared to have her best irritable face on. Oh, there was a story behind this.

 

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions.” The elf –Solas- seemed desperate to get on her nerves. The irritation wasn’t rational, she knew, but she couldn’t shake it: something was very _wrong_ about him that she wasn’t quite able to place in her current exhaustion. Solas very amiably ignored her glare and turned to Cassandra. “The magic here is unlike anything I have ever seen, Seeker, and your prisoner is no mage. Honestly I find it difficult to believe-“

 

He was cut off by a strangled growl, and it took Ella a moment before she realized that the sound was coming from her. That was it, what angered her. The elf was a mage, of _course_. And now he was staring at her, head tilted quizzically as if he couldn’t possibly imagine what was wrong, the absolute _gall_. Control, need to get under control. She couldn’t lose herself, not here, not when there was work to be done. _Deep breaths_ through gritted teeth as her hand clenched and unclenched spasmodically. She tore her glare away from him, determined not to think about it for at least the length of time the sky was ripped open. That seemed reasonable enough.

 

She could feel the others staring at her, their eyes boring holes in her back and Ella knew that she needed to give an Explanation, and quickly by the looks of Cassandra’s twitchy sword hand. Ella forced a laugh and a smile, pretending to wince in pain with the movement and clutching her marked hand tightly.

 

“Fuck this…” she muttered, to herself but loud enough for the others to hear. Glancing up she could see that the confusion had turned to pity. Nice, she still could rock a mask. Although, admittedly, this was an easier guise than most, as she didn’t need to fake much; her hand _was_ in pain, Ella was just adept at ignoring such things, pushing them to the back of the mind alongside other useless luggage. She could assess injuries later.

 

“You okay there, Dancer?” Varric was the first to speak, and Ella bristled.

 

“Ella.”

 

“Sure thing, Dancer.” This was a joke to him, just a little _pet_ name.

 

“My _name_ is _Ella_ ,” she all but snarled.

 

“But you look so graceful, dancing about with your daggers like that,” the dwarf chuckled. Evidently he didn’t realize how close he was to one of those ‘pretty’ little daggers being lodged in his skull. _Breathe_. She did. It was just a nickname. Nicknames were normal. He didn’t mean it _that_ way.

 

“Sure thing, Teapot,” Ella replied with a bit of a smirk. Varric seemed taken aback.

 

“ _Teapot_?” he said incredulously.

 

“Short and stout.”

 

There was a snort from behind, and Ella turned to see Cassandra, a tinge of red in her cheeks that could be attributed to the snow if it wasn’t clear how hard she was trying not to laugh.

 

“Something funny, Seeker?” Ella couldn’t resist the little snipe. Old habits.

 

“Nothing is funny about this,” Cassandra replied with a scowl. She had a point.

 

“Well, I suggest we get a move on!” said Varric cheerfully.

 

“No.”

 

“Come on Seeker-“

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“You need me, plain and simple. Have you seen the valley? Your soldiers aren’t in control.”

 

Cassandra made a noise that could only express disgust, but she made no further complaint. Varric grinned widely.

 

“It’s settled then. Come on, Dancer, Bianca’s itching to meet some demons.” With that he fondly patted the crossbow strapped to his back and went on his way, clambering rather humorously over a few displaced beams. Ella followed, as did the others.

 

A particularly strong gust swept over them and the cold bit further into her skin, making her shiver and clutch at her overcoat, unable to really do anything because she was already as buttoned up as possible. The Breach flickered above them, and Ella’s palm mimicked the motion. It was beautiful, in the way one finds a dragon to be beautiful. As they walked, she rubbed together stiffened fingers; the cheap gloves she wore were practically useless in the face of the Frostbacks. Somehow the wind found its way into every seam and gap, dragging at her limbs with chill in a way that bothered her to no end, as sluggish movements would make fighting difficult, especially with a style like hers. The wind bit most viciously, however, at her exposed face, frosting her eyelashes delicately and lashing at her cheeks with malice, creeping down her neck and through the soft, worn fabric of her scarf. With a low growl, Ella fidgeted with the tattered thing in an attempt to keep at least a semblance of warmth. Delicately she could feel the rough leather of the collar, hidden just underneath. Her teeth worried at a chapped lip. Warily, oh so warily, she pressed her hands to the thing and, when it showed no signs of life, underneath it to the scarred skin of her neck. She sighed, such a relief it was to lift some of that pressure; although the fear still gnawed at her mind, _it will come back, it always comes back-_

Cassandra gave a shout; Ella brought her hands to her daggers. More demons to kill.

 

Thankfully, with the added numbers, the newly formed party made short work of whatever the Breach could spit at them. Varric validated his apparent obsession with his crossbow, nailing shades and wisps alike with unprecedented accuracy and speed, so that Ella could do nothing but be impressed. Cassandra had already proved her worth and would continue to do so, clearly a skilled swordswoman. Solas, well… Ella didn’t like to think about him, nor did she particularly enjoy the prickle of his barrier on her skin. It was just as well that she could keep herself busy because she wasn’t sure how long the whole ordeal could go on before she snapped and just threw a knife at _him,_ if only to get rid of the layer of magic that blanketed her, smothered her until she couldn’t-

 

 _Breathe_. It was necessary. It was… helpful. She could admit this. She didn’t like it, but she recognized his worth. It was a bit irritating that her targets might suddenly freeze, however, transfixed where they stood by grasping fingers of frost. Sure, for a warrior like Cassandra that might be helpful, and Varric seemed used to working with mages so that he accounted for that sort of thing, but it threw Ella off when movements she had anticipated and even counted on simply ceased. As another wasted throwing dagger went spinning off into the snow where a shade _should_ have been, Ella snarled quietly, forcing herself to remain calm even as the red threatened to tint her sight once again and she ripped through what was barely passable as flesh with a practiced hand. It was all too easy to fall back into that rhythm. The problem was that there was no direction this time, no one to mark friend from foe. She most certainly needed to watch herself, at least for the time being. Someone could get hurt.

 

If they had been fighting _people_ , Ella suspected that she would be coated in blood by the time they reached the next bridge. As it was, all she had to show for the little scraps was a gash along her shoulder from when her feet had grown clumsy with cold. When Solas had offered to heal it, Ella had gritted her teeth into a passable smile and insisted that he had better things to do than waste his time one her. He hadn’t asked a second time, and whether it was because he saw the panicked glint in her eye or simply agreed that he needed to reserve his strength she was overwhelmingly grateful for his silence on the matter. Him flinging fireballs overhead, she could deal with. Using his magic on her, changing the way her flesh worked? It might cause a nervous breakdown, and that really wasn’t the sort of thing that she needed when so much hinged on her and her damned hand.

  
Another rift –that’s what they were calling them, anyway- closed, and another awful sensation in her chest. It felt like she was being pulled apart and squashed at the same time. As she shook her hand out, Varric and Solas commented on how useful it was. Useful, yes. Pleasant, no.

 

When Cassandra hurried forward Ella shadowed her without a thought, fingertips lightly brushing the hilts of her blades as she eyed the crowd through narrowed eyes for anyone who might be a threat. It was a reflex, a mistake, and Leliana was skilled enough to catch it, because of course she was, she was the fucking Left Hand. Cursing herself, Ella let her hands fall away from the daggers and brought her focus back to the conversation at hand. Hopefully the only thing Leliana gained from that little slip would be ‘mercenary’, which, while not entirely inaccurate, was something Ella was more than willing to give away if it threw the Left Hand off. _Breathe._ All she needed to do was close that Breach and then jump ship as soon as possible. Said Breach shuddered and Ella winced as her hand responded. Easier said than done, she supposed.

 

And there was the Chancellor, being about as useful as one could expect of a Chantry official. Only the irritable expressions of the two other women kept Ella from gutting him where he stood when he spoke of trials and executions, and nothing could keep her from scowling as the man blathered on and on about hopelessness and death and blah blah blah the Maker is with us and _damn it will someone make this guy shut up?_

Her prayers were answered by none other than Cassandra, a woman Ella was appreciating more and more as time passed. Straightforward and blunt. Not exactly a master politician, but at least she was competent and, if not agreeable, easy to talk to. With her, you knew where you stood. And suddenly they turn to Ella, asking her what route they should take.

 

“What? Half an hour ago you wanted me dead. _He_ still wants me dead. Are you sure that I am the most qualified person for this decision?” In truth, Ella had not been a part of major decision-making process for a very long time. Most recently the most complicated question she had needed to answer for herself was ‘where do I put this dagger’ and the answer had always been ‘in that guy over there’; it was just a matter of specifics. If she messed up now, if could cost her the freedom she had so long sought after.

 

“You have the mark.” Solas spoke as if to a child, and Ella silently fumed.

 

“Yes, very perceptive. I am oh so impressed by your abilities, _mage_ ,” she snarled, shaking out her hand once more; the pain was bordering on distraction, and she couldn’t let that happen. Disapproval radiated from the elf, but he stayed blessedly silent. As did everyone else, awaiting her next move and, apparently, her decision.

 

“The mountains,” she finally sighed. “The faster we deal with this, the better.” _And the sooner I can get the hell out of this shithole._

 

Varric flashed her a smile, but it was clear that Cassandra was unhappy with the choice. Ella almost expected her to override it, but the Seeker just nodded and set off at a brisk pace, everyone else falling into place behind her. Still shaking her hand, Ella followed. Soon the Chancellor’s grumbling faded and all they could hear was the howling wind and the distant but piercing sound of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I use commas too much. If anyone wants to comment on it (-winkwink-) that would be appreciated. If not, drop a kudos. Or don't. Honestly if you're just reading it that's enough for me!
> 
> Thank you for reading my ramblings!


	3. That Kind of Day

 

After some time climbing, it became clear that the wind must be some sort of malicious force. How could it be otherwise when, no matter what rock they took shelter behind, no matter how large the outcropping they chose to shield them, a gust would always manage to find them and proceed to try its hand at sending them flying down the mountainside. The ladders were especially precarious, and though at first Ella tried to time her climb strategically in the gaps between chilled blasts she quickly found that there was nothing to be done and resigned herself to clinging for dear life to rungs that were so crusted with ice they could have been made of crystal. It might have been beautiful if one was indoors, or perhaps had packed a portable fire rune. Speaking of which… Ella shot what she hoped was a discreet glance at Solas. So far he had been nothing but courteous, if a little condescending, which made her feel a bit like a piece of shit for treating him as she had and how she no doubt would continue to act. He seemed the clever sort and hopefully he’d soon be able to comprehend the fact that though there was _nothing_ she’d rather do than sit and have a nice long discussion on why she hated mages and how that was oh so unreasonable and perhaps she should work on overcoming her ingrained prejudice, there wasn’t a place safe enough in all of Thedas for such a conversation and she’d rather he’d just stay as far as was reasonably possible from her and her scant belongings and leave it at that. Doubtless it wouldn’t be an issue for long, anyway.

 

Ella squinted at the Breach as she waited for her new little ‘team’ to scale a particularly tall ladder. As soon as she dealt with that, she could finally enjoy her newfound freedom. She picked at the scarf again, not so much to adjust it -it was clear that no amount of fidgeting would keep out the brutal cold- but because she was in all honesty concerned. The collar had never done this before, never just ‘died’. Sometimes it was quieter, sure, but there was always life in it. A faint hum, the slightest hint of something akin to a heartbeat. This silence was disconcerting.

 

The party regrouped right outside the mines, partially because it was always good to organize a group before venturing into an enclosed space, but also, Ella suspected, because the mines looked terrifying and everyone was subconsciously daring each other to go first. Cassandra was the last to arrive and the first to break the stalemate, Ella noticed with a small grin. _Good on her, taking one for the team_. Varric and Ella readied themselves and Solas did his part by casting barriers about the whole group, much to Ella’s chagrin. She gritted her teeth and said nothing as the magic prickled uncomfortably about her skin and Cassandra charged into the mines with an ear-rending shout that would wake a deaf man miles away, echoing off of the walls in such a tight space and, hopefully, distracting the demons. If they could be distracted by such a thing, that was.

 

From there things went smoothly enough. The mines were fascinating, that much wasn’t up for debate, but they were not so fascinating that Ella wished to stay and examine every stone down to the foundation while the world burned outside. Mostly it chilled her in a way the wind never could, with the dark and the demons and the walls closing in, _suffocating, please I can’t-_

_Breathe_. She did. Barely, harsh and shallow but she did. With all of the smiting they were doing, no one seemed to notice, which was more than fine by her. In the end she was glad to feel the wind on her face like, if not an old friend, at least a consistent and reliable enemy. The cold she could cope with. The bodies scattered about the entrance, less so.

 

It wasn’t that they were dead per-say, because to be perfectly honest Ella had seen more than her fair share of dead people and the overwhelming nausea, the raw horror that afflicted those unaccustomed to such a sight no longer afflicted her, if it ever had. Hers was more of a slow gnawing pain, like an animal caught in a bear-trap, ripping at its own skin, dulled and near sedate as it desperately tried to escape from panic. What really disgusted her about these particular bodies was that they were so clearly mutilated, armor and skin alike shredded by merciless claws, faces still twisted into pain and fear, still screaming _still screaming how are they still screaming_.

 

It jolted her to realize that there really was screaming, carried by the wind as it ripped at their faces. Narrowing her eyes Ella darted into the snow, sprinting lithely across rock and ice alike with graceful ease. She didn’t bother to see if the others followed, didn’t really care, because there were people out there who were still alive, faces twisted into pain and fear but still screaming, still fighting. Maybe she had grown soft, but she couldn’t just let them die.

 

It wasn’t long before the telltale eerie green flickered across the snow and Ella could see the remaining scouts. There weren’t many, she realized with a grimace that quickly shifted to a snarl. Demons. Why was it always demons? And they thought _her_ responsible for this? Clearly they didn’t know her at all, which in its own way was mildly comforting. Ella whirled into the fight, feet barely skimming the stone as she sunk her blades into a demon, dancing away as it let out a satisfying screech, turning towards her and away from the woman it had been terrorizing. As she flitted about its claws like a sparrow would a falcon, Ella couldn’t help but laugh. The thing was rather gangly, clumsy in its attacks and slow to turn, whereas she could whirl about, darting in to strike when it grew frustrated and left itself open. The thing howled again, a sound stripped of humanity that tore at the ears, but Ella simply gritted her teeth into a smile before taking advantage of its lack of focus, adjusting the grip on her blade with a bit of flourish and sending it flying, straight into the thing’s neck. It gurgled as it fell, as if trying to continue the hideous noise it had been making. Ella shifted her feet, propelled herself into a roll so that she might swiftly seize the knife and shot up with equal speed, legs set in a proper stance as her eyes took in a quick assessment.

 

Her newfound ‘friends’ had joined in, it seemed, and were making quick work of the remaining demons whose attention had been successfully diverted from the injured scouts. Good. A flicker of movement caught her eye: a shade creeping towards Cassandra, moving to flank. Or perhaps it was just lucky, as Ella still was unsure how much intelligence these particular demons possessed. It wouldn’t do to ponder on that now. In a flash, Ella was on the thing, leaping into the air with daggers bared and bearing down onto the mockery of flesh. The thing collapsed with a writhing shriek and Cassandra spared time for a nod of thanks before driving forward to bash in heads with her shield. The demons were quickly disposed of and the rift quickly closed thanks to whatever forsaken magic had decided to take up residence in her palm. Honestly, it was the slightest bit rude. She hadn’t asked anyone to make her hand glow. At least, she couldn’t remember asking for such a thing. The thought was troubling.

 

The horrid sensation that accompanied closing a rift was no longer so awful, because of familiarity to the feeling if nothing else. The scouts gave their ‘thank you’s, and Cassandra, surprisingly enough, shifted the gratitude to Ella.

 

“Well, you know, nothing like the mountain air. Clears the head, yes?” she nearly stammered. The attention was not welcome; she wanted as few people remembering her face as could possibly be managed.

 

The rest of the journey was more ladders but significantly less demons, for which everyone was grateful. At least the wind didn’t have talons, although sometimes it certainly felt that way. Ella was practically thrown from the last few rungs, the wind nearly wrenching her arm from its socket as it tossed her into a drift. She glared up at the mountain and it glared right back, looming over her with a force that said _‘and_ stay _out’_.

 

With a roll of her shoulders she turned to the temple, or at least what was left of it. From what she remembered through the haze, the building had been rather impressive, striking in the way it stood tall and imposing against the reckless frigid landscape. Now it was just… sad. Fallen stones and jutting rocks laced with the green of the Fade. Crumbling architecture that had once stood so grand. Though unsettling and rather depressing, ruined temples were something that Ella could deal with, but worse by far were the bodies.

 

The smell of charred flesh had been mercifully carried off by the mountain winds by the time they reached their origin. There was still quite enough devastation to go around, however. Corpses littered the expanse where the temple had once been, the last throes of agony immortalized in scorched statues of blistering flesh. Some held their arms in front of them, as if to protect themselves, and nearly all had faces twisted into a final scream. Ella was used to corpses; it was in the job description. This, though, was something else entirely. She was forced to dig deep into the well of experience and discipline acquired over a lifetime’s worth of dedication to her work in order to master her expression as they crossed what was effectively a graveyard, forcing herself into a stony mask of cold indifference, one that fit well. The others, however, didn’t appear to have her control. Although Varric and Cassandra were clearly used to death, horror ingrained itself into every aspect of their faces. In Cassandra this was quickly followed by a blistering anger, something that gave Ella the urge to flinch when by chance their eyes met briefly. In Varric there was a sort of resignation, which was terrifying in its own way. What had this dwarf seen, so that he could walk through here and find that he couldn’t expect anything more from the world? Solas, though, kept himself nearly as composed as Ella. Troubling, as he seemed unassuming enough, minus the magic of course. The only thing that she could glean from him was the faintest flicker of sadness, or perhaps regret. Maybe she just wasn’t as good at reading faces as she thought.

 

Something glinted in the uncertain light of the Breach, and Ella cautiously threaded her path across broken bodies to reach it. Crouching down next to yet another corpse –they all looked the same; no defining features so far as she could tell- she saw in its outstretched palm a medallion of sorts. Fixated by some gross fascination, Ella carefully pried it from the viselike grasp and held it up for examination. A lump of metal, twisted by the intense heat but still recognizable as a family crest. With narrowed eyes she realized that it was the same thing that had been gaudily emblazoned on every damned thing that man had owned –Martin had been his name, yes?- and that of course meant the corpse must belong to him. Well, she supposed that was payment enough for being such a bumbling brute who also happened to have a name steeped in money. She started from her thoughts as a heavily armored hand settled on her shoulder. Turning her head, Ella was met with the sympathetic eyes of the Seeker.

 

“Someone you know?” she murmured, as if speaking too loud might break some spell of grief or loss. Ella looked away, finding that she was gripping the metal hunk so tightly that it was digging into her palms. She forced herself to let it fall with a spasmodic jerk of her hand, and it landed in the dirt with a dull thud.

 

“Unfortunately,” she growled, shrugging off the hand and rising to face the ruined temple and, by proxy, the Breach.

 

Entering the building soon led to the arrival of the Left Hand, as well as many soldiers, all battered and battle-weary. Some, Ella noted with a frown, were limping or loosely clutching at arms. Were they so stretched for men that they couldn’t let the injured rest? Cassandra once again interrupted her thoughts.

 

“This is our chance to end this. Are you ready?”

 

Ella spared a glance towards the Breach, craning her neck in order to see the entire thing. Distantly she could feel her hand throbbing, a second heartbeat in tune with the pulsing magic that swirled above. This might kill her, she realized. That much magic coursing through her… it would be so much more than the rifts, of that she was certain. For a moment a fear struck her, swift and lancing as a spear, that whatever nonsense was currently in her veins would be able to sweep her away towards the Fade itself, to trap, if not her body, then her mind in that perpetual nightmare. _Breathe_. She swallowed the fear, smothered it like one would the spark that precedes a flame. Her features smoothed into that expressionless mask once more, Ella faced Cassandra with a nod of assent.

 

“I assume that there is a plan, then?” She heard herself say. “Besides ‘catapult the prisoner into the magic swirling hole in the sky and hope for the best’, that is.”

 

“This rift is where it all began,” said Solas. “It is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

 

There was far more speculation in this ‘plan’ than what Ella would usually be able to stomach, but seeing as how there didn’t seem to be any better options she simply acknowledged his words with yet another nod. “Let’s get to it, then.”

 

As they picked their way across the rubble, a voice thundered over them, disconnected and otherworldly.

 

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

 

“Solas, what are we hearing.” Cassandra sounded more confused than scared, which was a testament to either her bravery or her acting skills, because Ella was scared shitless. The thing reeked of both cults and magic, two terrifying things that had apocalyptic tendencies when mashed together.

 

“At a guess? Whoever created the Breach,” the elf replied, calm as stone.

 

Red crystal surged from the walls, scrabbling wildly for a foothold amongst the debris. As they neared, Ella thought she could hear a faint melody brushing delicately against her ears like a tender caress. She was more than willing to heed Varric’s warning about the ‘red lyrium’, hurrying past it with a shudder.

 

As they searched for a way down, the voice continued to rumble overhead, punctuated by the voice of the Divine herself, which the Seeker was helpful enough to point out. Ella was perfectly content to ignore the voices of the dead, and was rather irritated that the rest seemed inclined to do the opposite. Disembodied voices were the definition of ‘not okay’, and pretending they didn’t exist was much better for her health and the health of those in her immediate vicinity. When they finally found a relatively safe place to leap down, they were accosted by a vision that vigorously contested her willful ignorance.

 

First there was an unpleasant revelation as her hand sputtered, burning with the life of the Breach, and Ella’s own voice rang out across the expanse. Almost immediately, as if to spite her sanity, the Fade manifested a dreamlike apparition, supposedly representative of the past. A figure, encased in shadows, holding the aloft with threads of magic the Divine, who in turn called out for help. Someone else, battering down the doors… oh shit. _Shit_. Ella, coming through the door, one hand on her throat as the collar stumbled over its death throes, taking in the scene with wide eyes.

 

“What the _fuck_ -?” Ella winced at the sound of her voice, hoarse from underuse as the collar finally gave up. The Divine begged her to run, but the figure cloaked in shadows raised a hand and fixed the vision-Ella with a single too-long finger.

 

“We have and intruder. Kill the slave.” The vision disintegrated.

 

Ella could have screamed. She would have, honestly, if it hadn’t been so branded into her mind that such an act was futile, that no sound would escape the clutching hands of the collar. Because every action was tailored to be the perfect… what she was. What it had said. Slave. The thought was enough to bring bile to her throat, the taste of acid to her tongue. At last she gained enough self-awareness to realize that she had completely lost all control of her expression, her posture, the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her side, leaving crescent-moon furrows of blood in her palms. Quietly, with as much effort as she could muster, she _tore_ the snarl from her face, dragging lips to cover bared teeth and ripping at muscles until they finally relaxed into a semblance of calm. Back straightened from a predatory arch, shoulders pushed back from a protective hunch. She couldn’t quite scrape the murder from her eyes, and her breath still fled clenched teeth in violent gasps, but she would take what she could get. It took even longer to banish the ringing from her ears, to hear what her obviously worried companions were saying to her as she glared at the empty space where the apparition had been. _Fucking Fade_.

 

“Dancer, are you in there?”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I may have drifted for a moment. What were you saying, Varric?” There was no emotion, and she was unable to spare the extra effort it would take to insert one. It was hard enough to keep a growl from the words. Even so, Varric winced, presumably at the painful tranquility of her voice.

 

“I was just asking if you were okay.” He glanced at her neck, where the collar lay tucked under its scarf. Of course, in that vision they had seen it, glowing like a fucking sun as it shorted on the overabundance of magic.

 

“Of course I’m okay. What a question.” Ella loosed her daggers in a fluid motion, spinning them absentmindedly. “I believe we had a job to do, yes?”

 

Cassandra looked as if she wanted to barrage Ella with questions, but the latter refused to allow it. Instead, she shot a pointed look at Solas. “When I open this thing, demons are going to come flying out, aren’t they.” The elf nodded. Ella sighed. “Great. Just what I need. I suppose you all should ready yourselves, then.”

 

Cassandra called out some orders to the soldiers supporting them as Ella approached the rift. It was a nasty looking thing, like a badly patched wound left to fester as infection leeched into the blood. She couldn’t hear anything but the hum of the Fade and the screaming fury inside of her, and wasn’t sure which one she feared more. He had called her a slave. The _gall_. He’d seen through the patchwork web of lies she had weaved for her own sanity in a matter of seconds, shredding it as he did so. And, in the same span of time, he had revealed her true nature to the people who effectively held her life in their hands. And she didn’t even know his name, so it wasn’t like she could properly thank him.

 

What was she now, then? The thought struck her even as she reached out a hand, feeling the familiar but no less gut wrenching feeling of being simultaneously stretched and compressed until her muscles wept and the nerves in her hands were blistering with the heat. The collar was dead, did that mean she was no longer a slave? A strand fell from the thread linking her with the rift, and she wrapped it about her hand and tugged, feeling the rift fall open as she did so.

 

Of course, what would choose to claw its way out of the Fade but a massive pride demon? Because that was the sort of day Ella was having.

 

Arrows rained down on it, but the demon simply batted most of them away, the rest bouncing uselessly from armored hide. Varric sent off a bolt with a curse and managed to strike one of its eyes, but seeing as how it had five more of those Ella guessed that such an action would make it angry more than anything else. Judging by the roar that shook the very foundations of what remained of the temple, she was right. Daggers in hand, she chained her fear and leapt at the creature, striking at a soft spot behind its knee as she slid between its legs. Cassandra was rallying the men, shield high and proud against the demon’s merciless blows. Still, all they could really do was strike at its calves. It laughed, a deep and menacing noise that reverberated through the bones of everyone present, juggling electricity with a smug flick of its wrist. As it lifted its head in, well, pride, Ella caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an unarmored patch where the head met the neck. Not weak by any means, but certainly not as impenetrable as the thick armor that coated the rest of its body. She looked around for some support but it appeared that no one else had seen it, as they had been ducking for cover from a particularly nasty lash of electricity. From her vantage point behind the beast, she hadn’t had to hide. With a sigh, Ella gritted her teeth and sprinted towards its back, praying to every god she knew that it didn’t turn around. Whether it was luck or divine intervention she would never know, but the creature seemed so focused on its prey that it didn’t notice as she darted towards it, or even as she leapt into the air to land on its back, hands grasping for scales, spikes, any hold that could be found. Nor did it seem to feel her clamber nimbly up its back, one dagger clenched firmly between her teeth. In fact, it only seemed to realize that there was a small but furious girl climbing it like a backyard oak when she grasped hold of a spike that jutted from the side of its neck and swung, dagger now in her free hand and slashing at its throat. With a rumbling bellow it reached up with one clawed hand to bat her away, but not before the damage had been done and Ella’s blade was buried in its flesh. Still, the creature’s last blow connected, sending Ella flying towards the ground. She managed to gain enough awareness to roll into the dirt, spreading the impact through her shoulder and down her back, finally coming to a jarring halt by slamming into a large boulder just as the demon collapsed.

 

Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up. A groan escaped her throat as every fiber of her being shrieked, willing her to be still. It felt like she had bruises on her bruises. And maybe a cracked rib. Or three. A voice pierced the haze of pain.

 

“Close the rift! Quickly!” She didn’t even know who said it, only knew that it was an order. Orders must be obeyed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone racing to help her as she placed one protesting leg in front of the other, one palm twitching with the mark and the other burning where stone had sliced flesh. Whoever it was, they never reached her. An outstretched hand in front of her –oh, that was her hand, wasn’t it? She observed with passive interest that it shook violently, then suddenly snapped to stillness as the mark reunited itself with the rift. _Close it, close it_.

 

Even in her state of distant awareness it was clear that something was going very wrong. The Breach was a vacuum of power, and it was taking more than she could give. She could feel constriction in her lungs, her heart struggling against her ribcage. There must be another way, one where her toes wouldn’t lose their feeling from lack of blood flow. There was a strong urge to close her eyes, fall to her knees, and let the last remnants of her energy flow from her and into the void above, but she was stronger than that. Ella had mastered the unruly corners of her mind long ago, and this was not the most difficult thing her will had faced. So when met with the urge to give up, she surged forward. The abyss stared at her and she stared right back, refusing to fall in. Grabbing hold of the thread that linked her to the rift, she pulled with every ounce of strength she had left, ripping at the fabric of the world in order to tear herself away, losing what remained of her consciousness as she did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! If you see any issues or have any questions, feel free to drop a comment.


	4. Chantry Mothers and Templar Defectors and Mage Rebellions, Oh My

Her dreams were blessedly non-existent and, as she awoke, Ella felt the relief and comfort that came with finally receiving a restful sleep. Although she suspected that her unnaturally deep slumber had been the work of medicine or magic or both, she brushed off the immediate revulsion at the thought and focused on the child who was now in her room. Well, the room she had been sleeping in, at least. Presumably it wasn’t actually hers.

 

She rose to greet her ‘guest’, wincing at her aching side as she did so. When she pressed a hand to her ribs, she noticed that it was swaddled tight in bandages. Immediately beginning to pick them loose, she directed her attention to the elf girl, who had dropped whatever it was she had been carrying and appeared to be _shaking_ , eyes so wide that Ella swore she could see her own confused reflection in them.

 

“I-I didn’t mean t-to wake you, my lady,” the girl stammered. Ella was quite taken aback; it seemed like a few minutes ago when every face was screwed up in mistrust, and she could constantly feel the hate-filled eyes burning into her back.

 

“That’s, um, that’s quite alright, miss…?” The girl stared at her with wide eyes. Ella coughed. “That is, um, how long have I been unconscious, exactly?”

 

“A few d-days, lady Herald.” As if suddenly recalling something important, the girl sunk to her knees in a gesture of deference and respect. Words bubbled from her downturned face, the stammer disappearing as it was swept up by exuberance. “You stopped the Breach from spreading! Everyone says that you’ve been touched by Andraste; it’s all anyone has been talking about for-“ Then, as if catching herself, she bit her lip and became silent. Ella simply stared at her, blanket clutched to her chest in growing horror.

 

 _Touched by… Andraste?_ She barely mouthed the words, unwilling to speak them out loud. Apparently sensing the growing awkwardness that permeated the room, the girl rose and began slowly backing towards the door.

 

“I should tell lady Cassandra. She said to tell her when you awoke. She said ‘at once’.”

 

Ella started forward and winced as her ribs protested. “Ugh. Where is she? The Seeker, I mean.”

 

“In the Chantry, my lady. At once, she said.” And with that she fled, slamming the door behind her.

 

“…What?” Ella asked the resultant emptiness. It was, predictably, silent.

 

Sighing, she decided that a damage assessment was in order. Her hand still glowed, but more faintly this time, the pain having all but disappeared to be replaced with a strange pulse, like a heartbeat. The other hand was far worse, when strange magical marks were pushed aside. As she peeled away the bandages layer by layer Ella could see remains of various poultices dotting the course fabric, an omen for what lay beneath. The last swath was stuck to her skin, and it took a few minutes of careful coaxing and a few choice swears before the dratted thing was finally off. Holding up her hand to the light, she could see the full extent of the damage.

 

In truth it had been much worse. Ella could see the scarred remains of where the stone had sliced her palm when the demon threw her and the angry purple-yellow bruises about her fingers where they had been broken. Much of the skin was bright pink and unpleasantly hot and sticky when she poked at it, which meant that sliding across the rocks had rubbed away some of her flesh. It seemed to be healing well, considering.

 

The rest of her body wasn’t bad either, though it was a tad worse than her hand. Her ribs still ached, and she guessed that they hadn’t completely knitted themselves back together. Lifting her shirt confirmed an ugly splotch of patchwork bruising. Most of the wounds she had received from the clawed blows of demons were closed, now just a few more scars for her collection. With a grimace she realized that the healers who had tended her must have removed her shirt in order to treat her ribs. Which meant that they had seen her back. Not that they didn’t already know, what with the collar now displayed proud and scarf less –a quick scan of the room revealed that particular article of clothing draped across a desk- and with that figure at the temple so helpfully pointing it out to them. _Slave_. Damn it all.

 

Twisting her torso revealed that she could move, if with a fair amount of pain. _If I can just get out of here before that girl fetches the Seeker…_ Ella kicked off the blankets, unable to hold back a sneer at her new ‘outfit’. Where were her clothes? Well, she supposed they weren’t _her_ clothes per se, but she _had_ been wearing them and they _were_ rather comfortable, travel worn though they were. Kneading the heel of her palm into her forehead, she reasoned that she could just add that to the growing list of pure bullshit that the universe had managed to pile onto her in the last few days.

 

Sitting up on the bed, feet firmly on the floor, she leaned forward, testing how her legs would bear the weight. Although the damage seemed superficial, it never hurt to be sure. Or, apparently, it did. Ella groaned through clenched teeth as pain shot up her leg. Leaning over to check it only aggravated her ribs, and Ella cursed at length and extensively as she straightened once more. This entire endeavor was growing more hopeless by the second. If she couldn’t walk, she was damn certain she couldn’t run. And running was safety. Running was survival. That’s how it had always been.

 

Forcing herself to her feet, face twisted into pain but resolutely silent, Ella took step after agonizing step until after what felt like millennia she reached the desk that housed her scarf. If asked later, she would never admit that she sank into the furniture, clutching to its stability like a marooned sailor would driftwood. It took longer than she would have liked to successfully drape the scarf around her neck, and still she wished that there was a mirror or a pool of water, anything to make sure it was fulfilling its intended purpose. Running hands along her neck, tugging at the scarf, tentatively pushing under the collar, Ella felt with cautious fingers the evidence of years spent wearing such a thing. Scars from where it scraped, skin rubbed raw from the slightest movements. And still it was silent, dead to her exploration. Crinkling her nose, Ella lowered her hands to the desk, pushed off in stubborn deafness to her body’s protests. She slowly made her way to the door, steps measured, calm, and adeptly hiding the agony that wracked her every move. So far so good.

 

Ella opened the door, and immediately slammed it shut, leaning against the frame with harsh gasps of panic. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled it ajar, just enough for her to peek out. Sure enough, a crowd of people were just… standing there. Right outside. Waiting for something. _Waiting for me_. Mouth suddenly very dry, Ella forced herself to stand straight and proud. She shoved the door open all the way, paying no mind to the way the crowd seemed to collectively gasp the moment she showed her face. In a manner she hoped was discreet Ella allowed her eyes to roam the mass of people as she took slow and steady steps. They spilled out of every conceivable door, some of them taking to rooftops and scaffolding, and though they cleared a path for her as she moved it was clear that there would be no way for Ella to leave Haven without drawing considerable attention. Fuming, she considered her next move.

 

The girl had said Cassandra was in the Chantry. Ella supposed that that was as good a place to start as any. There was the simple matter of deciding which building was correct; the Chantry was always gaudy and opulent, and so it would take up the most space, be placed in the most prominent position, and be the most decorative. As the crowd parted before her she caught hushed snippets of conversation.

 

“…that’s the Herald, that is, they say she-“

 

“-Breach is still there, didn’t do a good job, did she?”

 

“She’s just a _girl_ , I mean Maker I heard but I didn’t-“

 

“-say that Andraste herself guided her through the-“

 

“-supposed to have closed-“

 

“-saved us from-“

 

Finally, finally, _finally_ she entered the damned building and shut the doors behind her, leaning against them as she released the coiling panic that had been writhing in her stomach. _Blessed by Andraste_. Ridiculous. Dangerous. _So much for keeping a low profile_.

 

The sound of raised voices washed over her, and Ella raised her head wearily, bristling at what she heard. The Chancellor, again. Threatening her freedom like the fool he was. The panic dissipated, burned away by pure rage. No one, _no one,_ was _ever_ putting her in chains again. Her hands reached for her daggers as she stalked towards the door, a snarl plastered on her face, and threw it open to reveal the war room and its startled occupants.

 

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial,” the Chancellor ordered.

 

Ella didn’t bother with words, she simply turned, palms wrapped about her blades and face set in the _deadliest_ look she could possibly manage. The two guards, who had begun moving to follow the command, appeared to pale, looking up a bit hesitantly.

 

“Disregard that, and leave us.” Ella whirled with the slightest hint of confusion on Cassandra as she sent the guards outside. Was this woman _protecting_ her? One moment she was a jailor, the next she was a guardian. It was baffling to say the least.

 

After a lovely exchange of thinly veiled threats and accusations, the Seeker revealed her intent. An Inquisition. Lovely. That could never go wrong. The Chancellor, predictably, quailed under Cassandra’s harsh gaze, swore that this wasn’t over, and fled the building, tail between his legs. Ella couldn’t help it; she chuckled.

 

“Well, this has all been rather entertaining. I’m ready to wake up now.” She smiled at the collection of confused and unamused faces before her. “Seriously. Whenever you’re ready.” Of course, nothing happened. “Damn,” she sighed, fidgeting with her scarf. “Worth a shot.”

 

“I suppose that means we can’t count on support from the Chantry?” murmured a man, the only one in the room. The way he held himself would scream soldier, even if he weren’t in full armor.

 

“Didn’t need them anyway, if you ask me,” replied Ella. “Better off without.”

 

“We aren’t ready,” sighed the Left Hand, Leliana. “No allies, no money, no Chantry support…”

 

“But we have no choice,” finished Cassandra. Leliana nodded, eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

 

“An Inquisition,” began Ella, slow and cautious with her words. “I’m sure you understand the implications…?”

 

“We do,” said Cassandra.

 

“Then I trust you will endeavor not to repeat-“

 

“We will.” The Seeker sighed, leaning on the table. Leliana continued for her.

 

“The original Inquisition existed to establish order in a world consumed by chaos. Though eventually the path became… muddied, we will attempt to live up to their original intent.”

 

“Understood,” replied Ella. She held up her marked hand, still pulsing with a faint green glow. “And I’m guessing you’ll need this.” She was greeted with nods of assent.

 

“You are the only one who can close the rifts,” said Cullen, as if by way of apology.

 

“Well, it would be ridiculous of me to think myself more important than all of Thedas, I suppose,” Ella sighed. “Very well, then. I’m your ‘Herald of Andraste’, or whatever else you might see fit. After all.” She swooped into a low and elaborate bow, a smile tugging at her lips. “I live to serve.”

 

The words had the desired effect. Immediately the atmosphere turned tense, almost everyone shuffling, averting their eyes. Leliana, it seemed, was the least affected. The Left Hand simply stared, watching and waiting. She was a dangerous one, and Ella knew it, even as she took stock of every single tell, every awkward glance, every twitch of the hand. She knew what they looked like when uncomfortable. It was a start.

 

“About that.” Leliana broke the silence. Behind the walls of her composure, Ella braced herself. “I’m afraid there’s no tactful way to put this, but what with you being, well-“

 

“A slave?” supplied Ella helpfully. And if she wasn’t able to keep the bite from her voice, well, nobody’s perfect. Leliana gave her a strained smile and continued: a testament to her character, really.

 

“Yes, of course. It is necessary, you see, to ensure that no one-“

 

“Is looking for me?” Ella could have laughed. She almost did. Pursing her lips, the Left Hand nodded. “It _is_ nice of you to worry, really, but I wouldn’t.” A lie, and a bold-faced on at that, but Ella covered for it by tugging her scarf down, revealing the collar, noting the way eyes flickered down before they quickly, guiltily, looked away, as if caught staring at a barmaid in the tavern. “Even if they wanted me back –which I doubt, because honestly I am a huge pain in the ass- the collar is dead.”

 

“Dead?” Leliana asked, her tone polite and civil.

 

“Yes, dead!” Ella chuckled gleefully. “Something about the explosion, the Breach, I’m not sure, but it just… killed it. I’m not sure how else they would track me down, and even if they found me…” _I would be able to fight. They would give orders and I wouldn’t have to obey, for once in my life I’d be able to fight_. Ella smiled silently, shrugging.

  
The Antivan woman gave a polite little cough, stepping forward. “Well, I believe introductions are in order. I believe you’ve already met Seeker Cassandra and Leliana.” She gestured to the two in turn, and Ella nodded cordially.

 

“My position here requires a certain degree of-“ began Leliana, but she was cut off by Cassandra.

 

“She is our Spymaster.” Leliana _winced_.

 

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” she said dryly. The Seeker just shrugged.

 

“I am Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s ambassador and diplomat. This is Commander Cullen, he will lead our forces.”

 

“Such as they are,” the man muttered to himself before glancing up. “We didn’t get a chance to meet before, but I’m told you were formidable. That being said, if you require any training, I am sure something could be arranged.” He must have seen the look on her face, because he continued. “Of course, it isn’t strictly necessary. Think on it; there’s always something new to be learned.”

 

It wasn’t a bad idea, but it also wasn’t a particularly good one. Ella decided to store it away for later thought. Instead she focused on something more urgent.

 

“Ella,” she said, motioning towards herself vaguely. “This… Herald of Andraste talk. Are you encouraging it, or-“

 

“We haven’t _discouraged_ it,” answered Cassandra.

 

“You are aware that I am not exactly the picture-perfect ‘Chantry-girl’, right?” asked Ella with a certain degree of incredulity. “Because I’m perfectly willing to play along, but no one’s going to mistake me for a saint. Or a Herald, I guess.”

 

“They already have,” Leliana pointed out. Damn her and her logic.

 

“And, despite whatever your personal beliefs may be,” said Cassandra with a pointed stare. “You were exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

 

“Fine.” Never mind that it put a bad taste in her mouth, gallivanting as something she wasn’t. If these people needed her to be their damn Herald in order to let her fix the sky, then she’d be a Herald. Bring out the infants; it’s baby-blessing time.

 

She was drawn from this melancholy by Cassandra, who in turn drew the entire crew to the war table.

 

“You already know that we plan to close the Breach. In order to do this, we need power,” said the Seeker.

 

“Which is why we must approach the rebel mages,” finished Leliana. Ella bristled imperceptibly, not entirely paying attention as an argument evidently long in the making spiraled into circularity. Mages or Templars. That was basically the question of ‘who would I rather kill me’, which was easy enough: Templars could only run you through with a blade. Mages and demons, now, that was _not_ a good way to go.

 

“It doesn’t matter; we don’t have the influence to approach either party,” said Josephine, predictably adept at quelling argument.

 

“We can change that,” replied Leliana. And so they went to work.

 

It was all rather interesting, Ella admitted to herself when they finally convened their meeting. Chantry mothers and Templar defectors and mage rebellions, oh my. She stretched and felt her back give a satisfying _pop_ , eager to reach what was now her building and get started on her packing for the trip to the Hinterlands. Pushing open the wide doors of the Chantry revealed that it was long past midday, and seeing as she hadn’t eaten anything for at least the day, maybe more depending on whether or not they fed her when she was unconscious, she was convinced by a protesting stomach to seek out a late lunch. Or an early dinner. Or just a really overdue breakfast. She tried to smile through the pain that came with prolonged standing on injured legs; it couldn’t be helped, as she was sure sitting would show some amount of vulnerability, however small. Ella was adamant about showing as little weakness as possible in front of the Spymaster, especially after so much had already been revealed. It was fascinating, really, to see the little gears whirring away underneath that hood of hers, fitting together bits and pieces so that she could always claim the advantage. Ella would not let herself be tied to the Inquisition through blackmail or anything equally conniving.

 

Unfortunately there weren’t any posted signs to conveniently direct her towards something edible. With a sigh Ella settled for the next best thing and pushed open the doors to the tavern, reveling in the way the warmth wrapped her in a snug embrace. She pulled on a pair of tattered gloves, effectively hiding her hand from the passive observer. The tavern was full of drunk and drinking men and women, just crowded enough for anonymity, something Ella felt that she desperately needed. That and a drink. Maybe two.

 

Five mugs of whatever it was the barmaid was setting in front of her later, and Ella was beginning to feel a tingling at her fingertips. Humming in contentment, she stretched like a cat before the hearth, letting the warmth seep into her aching bones. It wasn’t long, however, before a familiar voice caught her ear.

 

“There we were, facing this enormous demon throwing lightning around like nothing. And the Herald, she _scales_ the thing, like a damn squirrel. So I’m standing there, with Bianca, of course, and all I see is this crazy kid _climbing a demon_ , and I’m saying to myself, ‘shit, where’s a pen when I need it?’”

 

“You forgot the part where the demon flung me across the room like a pillow, Varric,” called Ella dryly, looking up to find the dwarf in the crowd. There he was, standing on his chair, and he had attracted quite the following. She disliked the way their confusion turned to awe as they realized who she was, and the way they stared not at her face, but at her hand. She wrapped the offending article around her mug, shielding her palm from their eyes. Varric, at least, simply flashed her a lopsided grin.

 

“Yeah, but that was only _after_ you ripped its throat out. You have to let me flesh in the story, Dancer.” Ella could almost hear the swagger in his voice, and she smiled.

 

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t build up for such a let down.”

 

“The suspense, Dancer! It’s all in how you tell it.”

 

“Maybe…”

 

“See folks, she can be taught!”

 

“Maybe you should tell them about your nickname instead, Teapot.”  
  
“Oh come on, Dancer, you’re killing me here.” The dwarf swooned dramatically, slumping against his chair. Ella noted with appreciation that the crowd was growing more comfortable; some were even giggling, albeit nervously. She’d take what she could get.

 

“If I was killing you, you’d be dead, Teapot.” Ella shot him her sweetest smile. He blew her a kiss in response, and she gagged, coughing dramatically as she banged a fist against her chest.

 

“Hey, get your ass over here, Dancer. I’m gonna by you a drink.”

 

Well, she couldn’t very well say no to that. “You know you’re just enabling me,” she said as she plopped down in the chair across from him, wincing internally as a little circle of space appeared between her and the rest of the patrons. So much for anonymity.

 

“Yeah, well, I’d be awfully hypocritical if I told you to stop. Besides, if anyone needs a drink, it’s you.” He leaned forward. “How you been, Dancer?”

“Alive.” Ella kept her face guarded. Varric seemed disappointed. He leaned back, drink in hand.

 

“Alive is good, I guess. Better than the alternative.”

 

“Sometimes.” She hadn’t meant to say it. A mistake, a _mistake_ ; this was the collar, or the absence of it. Without that control… _shit_ she needed to pull herself together, or she was going to get herself killed. Luckily Varric wasn’t high on her list of potential threats. Sure, the dwarf could be a danger, but she doubted he would do anything to hurt _her_ unless she desperately deserved it.

 

He was silent for a while, which was understandable. There wasn’t a proper response for that, not really. So Ella laughed and looked at her mug.

 

“Damn, listen to me. I’ve been hitting this way too hard, I think I’m going to have to call it a night,” she chuckled, glancing up at Varric. He smiled back, and though he didn’t seem fully convinced, it was something.

 

“Try not to get struck by lightning on the way to your quarters, Dancer,” he called as she walked past him, allowing her pain to translate as a semi-drunk stumble.

 

“With my luck, I’ll get hit twice,” she replied, stepping out into the chill. Night had ambushed Haven, seizing it with frigid talons and shadowed breath. Looking up, Ella could guess at where the stars might be breathtaking. If only the Breach hadn’t swallowed them up with its ghastly light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, thanks for reading. Feel free to comment if you have any questions, critique, or just want to talk.


	5. Gilded Garbage

It took a couple hours of fruitless tossing and turning before Ella surrendered to the fact that she was never going to fall asleep. She was tired enough, sure, she reflected as she rubbed at weary eyes. There were just too many unknowns, not enough safeguards. Haven was open, understaffed, and unguarded. She’d be a fool to think herself safe here, and under no circumstance would her body rest when danger could be lurking. That was the excuse she told herself, and admittedly it was a good one. In truth, though, she didn’t _want_ to sleep. _No_ , she corrected herself. _I don’t want to dream_.

 

Ella had been plagued by nightmares since she was young. They’d never affected her sleeping, anyway, at least not in the early years. Of course, the more she experienced, the worse they became. And now, with the massive hole in the Veil and a duplicate burrowed into her hand, she couldn’t risk it.

 

She worried at her lower lip as she sat up in the bed and wondered what she would do with the spare time. Instinctively a hand reached for the collar, rolling the tough leather between fingertips as she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and stood. _Might as well try to get this thing off._

 

~~~~~~

 

After hours of every feasible method from slicing through the leather with a keen blade to burning it with an ember from the dying fire, Ella finally decided that it was early enough for rising to be acceptable. The collar remained, but that was unsurprising. Even ‘dead’, it maintained its resilience. A shame, but she couldn’t worry about it now, and so Ella dropped the now considerably duller knife she had been using into its sheath and began attaching various daggers to her person, a process which involved a multitude of belts and an excess of time. Fortunately familiar fingers made quick work of it, and she was soon ready to stow the whole mess under a cloak that someone had generously left for her. It was a simple thing and plain, but the dark fabric was thick and warm and the large hood meant that the cloak rose to her chin, shielding the collar from prying eyes. After that she pulled on threadbare gloves and word hunting boots before throwing open the door.

 

Thankfully there was no crowd of spectators this morning, although a few early risers did spare a reverent gaze her way. Pulling the hood up under the pretense of shielding her face from the cold, Ella hoped that maybe less of them would be able to recognize her. The distinct _clang_ of a hammer on metal and the rising smoke of a forge drew her to the blacksmith, where she hoped to obtain a whetstone to sharpen the knives she had dulled. Through the large doors that marked the exit she could see the soldiers training diligently, the Commander with that ridiculous cloak of his prowling amongst them like an oversized housecat playing at being a lion, barking out instructions that even Ella could admit were rather competent. A smile graced her face when she finally made it to the blacksmith, only to be accosted by the head smith himself, Harrit, who insisted on showing her every inch of the forge and on calling her the ‘Herald’, something she was beginning to hate more with each passing breath. At last she was able to make her escape, whetstone in hand and of a mind to find somewhere more peaceful than the area sandwiched between the raucous blacksmith and the chaotic training grounds. That was, of course, before a rogue sword almost separated her head from her body.

 

It was only instinct that saved her; from a young age Ella had learned to follow her gut and _get out of the way_ when she heard something racing through the air with that telltale _whoosh_. She really should have been paying more attention, she thought a little distantly as she wrenched her body to the side, leading with a jerk of her neck and following the motion smoothly. The sword sailed by, burrowing itself with a tremor in the snow and dirt about two feet behind her. She really should have been paying more attention, she thought distantly as she turned towards the recruits, green in more ways than one. A bunch of farmers turned soldier, it wasn’t surprising that a sword might go flying now and again. Perhaps they should invest in wrist-straps… This entertaining train of thought was quickly shattered.

 

“Maker’s brea- Herald are you alright?” shouted the Commander, barreling through his men, a couple of which actually wincing when they heard who she was. _Kaffas_ , she really didn’t want to make a fuss over this.

 

“Yes, I’m fine Commander,” she called, forcing a smile and a strong set to her shoulders. “It’ll take more than a dropped sword to do me in, I assure you. So… back to training with you.”

 

“You almost _died_!” His disbelief robbed his voice of volume, and he might have seemed calm if a red wasn’t creeping across his face. Behind him, Ella could see one man in particular trying to make himself as small as possible. She shot him a grin before facing the Commander once more.

 

“I didn’t, though,” she pointed out. “I wandered a little too close. My mistake.”

 

“No, the mistake was that _someone_ here has the sword-grip of a child,” he nearly growled, whipping around to glare at his men and presumably suss out the culprit, which wouldn’t be difficult considering it would be the only person without a damned sword. Grimacing, Ella yanked said sword from the snow bank and hurried over to the unfortunate soul before the Commander could tear him limb from limb, ducking under Cullen’s outstretched arm and grabbing the soldier’s hand.

 

“Name?” she barked gruffly.

 

“What are you-“ began the Commander, but Ella shot him the most _venomous_ look she could conjure up and he fell reluctantly silent.

 

“Name, soldier,” Ella said, a little softer this time. The man was visible shaking, pale even against the snow and a green tint to his face. Almost decapitating your deified figurehead would do that to you.

 

“K-k-k-kerin, ma’am,” he managed to stammer in response.

 

“Kerin, do you know how to hold a sword?” A couple chuckles from the crowd; she ignored them.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Show me.” She pressed the grip into his trembling hand, closing the fingers around it. Gulping, Kerin did as he was told; clutching the sword like his life depended on it.

 

“Now get into a fighting stance.” The man shot her only one confused glance before her glower forced his eyes down and he obeyed, hesitantly dropping into a respectable stance, if a little short. Ella nodded, taking a step back and noting how the rest of the recruits were enraptured spectators. Good, might as well teach them something. She walked up to Kerin, roughly grabbing his hand and adjusted his fingers, talking as she did so.

 

“Your knuckles are white, Kerin; you are holding this too tightly.”

 

“But I dropped it-“

 

“When you hold it like this, you strain your fingers. You will tire, as will your grip. You should be prepared to fight for a long while, yes?” Ella grinned as she backed away, drawing out her already dulled daggers. “Defend.” She lunged forward, allowing him to parry her blades before darting back. “You will limit yourself by clinging to your blade. It is not a lifeline; it is a weapon, a tool. It cannot work when you hold it back. You should only be tightening your grip when contact is made. Again.” She struck at his side and he smoothly brought the sword around to catch the blades, the connection ringing true across the training grounds. Ella smiled at him. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” The question was more directed towards the Commander (who scowled) than at Kerin (who positively beamed). She rolled a shoulder, a quirk at her lip. “Now who’s next?”

 

It was Ella’s firm belief that the best teacher was experience, and nothing could get closer to a combat situation than sparring. Evidently the Commander shared this belief, or at least he was willing to humor her, shrugging off her little impromptu ‘lesson’ with a roll of his eyes and something muttered under his breath before acquiescing to her request to clear a little ring on the side where anyone willing and able could spar her. Unsurprisingly it took a little taunting to convince anyone to step in the ring with her; she was, after all, the Herald of Andraste. After a couple well-placed jibes about the fertility and masculinity of some of the soldiers, however, she was overwhelmed with volunteers. She hid a smile; sometimes a man’s ego could be the most delicate thing.

 

Quickly it became apparent that no fresh recruit was going to be able to beat her, even with her size and apparent age. A couple of the more veteran soldiers, Templars who had followed Cullen’s example, managed to hold their own for a respectable amount of time, but Ella had trained in combat for a good while longer than them, even with their extra years of life. It was relatively easy to exploit the knowledge that a Templar’s training revolved around the fighting of _mages_ , not pesky little rogues. After pinning a particularly large brute in the snow-turned-slush by moving feet, knee on her windpipe, Ella heard the unmistakable sound of sarcastic applause. Rising from and offering a hand to her latest victim, she turned to find the source of the sound, even as she helped the Templar woman to her feet. It was, of course, Varric, perched atop a rock not too far away, a sheaf of papers in his lap and a quill in his hand. He waved cheerfully, and Ella reciprocated the gesture reluctantly. Deciding that maybe that was enough rolling in the snow for one day, Ella bid the recruits farewell and shoved her way out of the ring of rapidly dispersing bodies. Apparently the focus of their interest had been her.

 

“Hey Dancer! Putting our new soldiers through their paces I see,” said Varric when she drew near.

 

“Had to put them in their place. Can’t have anyone denying me as their personal savior, can I?” she replied in jest, craning her neck to peek over his shoulder. “What are you writing there, you artist you?”

 

“None of your business, you snoop you.” He quickly covered the scrawls with his arms before flashing her a winning smile. “Can’t have anyone leaking the secrets of my newest masterpiece.”

 

“Masterpiece?” Ella snorted.

 

“I’m thinking of calling it, And Then It Got Worse: A Herald’s Story.” She crossed her arms, scowling.

 

“No. You are not writing a book about me.”

 

“Come on, Dancer. The masses will want to _know_!”

 

“They’ll want to know what, exactly?” asked Ella, casually snatching a piece of paper from his little pile while he wasn’t looking. Varric reached to grab it, but she held it high above his arms, reading all the while. “That ‘The Herald had a smile that could charm a bear just as well as run it through’? I’m flattered, Teapot.”

 

“You should be,” said Varric, finally wresting the paper from her after a particularly powerful leap. “That’s much nicer than what I said about Hawke.”

 

“Alright, I’ll bite; what did you say about Hawke?”

 

“Ah, ah, ah, Dancer,” tutted Varric, shaking a finger. “No spoilers. Buy the book and see.”

 

“I’m not buying that trash you call literature, Tethras,” she let the end of her lips twitch up to show him that she was joking. Well, sort of.

 

“You must have read Swords and Shields,” he grinned, winking. “Admittedly not my best work, but I assure you, Tale of the Champion is worthy of at least a very fancy trashcan.”

 

“Solid gold?”

 

“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe gilded.”

 

“Nice talk, Teapot,” Ella chuckled, looking up to see a harried looking Leliana meet her eyes from the gates. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

 

Leliana intercepted Ella halfway to the gate, face grim.

 

“Did someone kick your prized nug?” Ella joked weakly, still playing to Varric. Damn, she was sloppy. _You made mistakes like this when you were eight. Pull yourself together_. Predictably, the comment did nothing to lighten the Spymaster’s mood.

 

“There has been a development. You must leave for the Hinterlands at once,” Leliana said, simultaneously penning a letter in intriguing coded shorthand for the raven perched on her shoulder.

 

“What’s happened?” asked Ella evenly.

 

“The conflict between the mages and Templars traveled faster than we anticipated. They are nearing the refugees Mother Giselle is tending to now, and our forces there will be unable to hold them off for any long period of time, especially with their focus divided by the rifts. They are meant for skirmishes, not drawn out battles.” Ella nodded.

 

“Understood,” she said briskly, stalking through the large doors and into Haven. “Who is going?”

 

“You must meet with Mother Giselle; she asked for you by name.” Leliana’s face expressed her distaste at that. “Cassandra will go with you, as will the apostate, Solas.” Now it was Ella’s turn to grimace.

 

“Varric too, then,” she said. The Spymaster sighed.

 

“I take no responsibility for what they do to each other.”

 

“What, Varric and Cassandra?” Ella grinned. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, mostly filler, next will likely be longer. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Will it be fine? Find out in the next thrilling installment.


	6. Bears Ruin Everything, A Hinterlands Tale

 

It was not fine. It was the exact _opposite_ of fine.

 

Ella felt murder run through her veins as Varric and Cassandra began their bickering anew. Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to focus on the meal in front of her.

 

“Well if you don’t like the way I put up the tents, then maybe you should do it!” shouted Varric from where he was yanking on a length of rope presumably attached to the rumpled mess of canvas before him.

 

“That isn’t how it works, Varric,” Cassandra replied, exasperated, a bundle of firewood in her arms. “Everyone does a job, and everyone does that job _right_.”

 

Vishante _kaffas_ that was _it_. She would not allow this to spiral into another _hour_ of their damned shrieking.

 

“No. Stop it. Right now,” snarled Ella dropping the bowl of what was meant to be stew and leaping to her feet. Both Varric and Cassandra looked at her, a mixture of confusion and residual anger. She breathed deeply, speaking through gritted teeth. “I’ll put up the tents. Cassandra please put the wood next to the fire. Both of you find someplace to sit where you can’t see each other.” They opened their mouths as if to argue. “Did I _stutter_?” Varric scrambled out of sight, and Cassandra did as she was told. _It’s like working with children_ , Ella fumed as she marched over to the tents.

 

They had made good time and were about half a day’s march from the Hinterlands, which was heartening considering that the sooner they dealt with this the sooner Varric and Cassandra could go back to just sullenly ignoring each other. _What the hell did they do to each other?_ Ella wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. The whole mess seemed too complicated for her tastes.

 

The tents were set up and Ella volunteered yet again for the first watch. Other than the concerned look Varric shot her, no one paid her insistence any mind. She allowed herself a long revitalizing breath of cool air when everyone had finally settled down in his or her respective tent. Sinking onto an upturned log, she settled a dagger across her lap and kept watchful eyes on the surrounding black. It never hurt to be cautious. And if she woke Cassandra a full two shifts past when she should have, the Seeker didn’t comment on it.

 

Ella spent the remainder of the night in a desperate attempt to convince herself that this ‘not-sleeping-thing’ was fine, really. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done it before. Never mind that ‘before’ didn’t involve the fate of the world resting squarely on her shoulders. Maybe later she could find someplace safe and far away from the others to sink into whatever the Fade had in store for her, but for now she would simply have to grin and bear it, so that was exactly what she was going to do. She crawled out of the tent she shared with Cassandra with a loud yawn, stretching her arms over her head while making her way to where breakfast was being doled out. Solas, she noted with narrowed eyes, was staring her down rather disapprovingly. _Mages_. Ella shook her head as if in an attempt to dislodge a pesky gnat and accepted a hunk of stale bread and some unidentifiable meat.

 

On the ride to their camp in the Hinterlands, Ella noticed out of the corner of her eye a certain elven apostate making several attempts to get close to her, presumably for a little chat. Not feeling particularly amiable towards mages at this moment in time, with her hand flaring up and her neck chafing under the collar, Ella undertook various precautions in order to evade him. She chatted with Varric, exchanged outlooks with Cassandra, and even volunteered to scout the path ahead for a ways, all in order to keep herself and her sorry specimen of a horse moving away from Solas. Alas, she could not run forever. Solas seemed to have caught on, because when they halted for a short rest the elf intercepted her before she had the chance to escape into the woods under the pretense of checking their perimeter.

 

“May I have a word?” he asked, walking up to her smoothly. It was one of those questions that weren’t really questions; rhetorical orders, Ella liked to call them. She gritted her teeth into a smile.

 

“For you? Always,” she replied easily enough, motioning towards a small copse of trees away from their rest stop, all the while hovering one hand lazily about her daggers. If this was going to be a fight, it would be better fought away from the others, where she could handle it herself.  


“There’s no need to play at polite, Herald,” he said when they were a suitable distance away. Ella placed a hand to her chest.

 

“Why, my dear apostate, I have no idea what you’re insinuating.”

 

“You fear magic, which, though disappointing, is understandable given your background.” Ella’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, and he continued. “That, however, is irrelevant. You haven’t been sleeping.”

 

“Why do you care?” She didn’t bother denying it; it would do no good. Although Ella had no idea how he could possibly know, she was sure he had somehow found a way. _Mages_.

 

“Why do I care?” He quirked a brow. “Could it be that I have a vested interest in saving this world, seeing as how I am one of its many inhabitants?”

 

“It’s the hand we need,” Ella reminded him, a strain to her voice. “Not me. And, given my ‘background’ I’m sure it’s no surprise that I have gone without rest for long periods of time before.”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to sleep, though?” he asked, exasperated. “There is no reason for this. If you are having difficulty, I could make you a potion that would easily-“

 

“ _No_ ,” she hissed, hand clenching spasmodically at her dagger. Reluctantly, she forced herself to relax. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

 

“If you fall asleep suddenly,” he said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “The mark on your hand could pull you more deeply into the Fade while you dream.”

 

“I already figured that out for my self; I may not be a mage, but I’m also not an idiot.”

  
Solas huffed, frustrated.

 

“It would be better if you experienced this on your own terms, as opposed to passing out from exhaustion.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind Solas,” she said in a voice that clearly implied the opposite. Motioning towards the others meaningfully, she began walking back. “We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

 

“No, indeed we wouldn’t,” he responded coolly, following her.

 

The rest of the ride was uneventful, with Solas having given up on talking to her and Varric sullen after yet another spat he and Cassandra had somehow gotten into during the _five damn minutes_ she had been gone.

 

When they finally met up with a dwarf named Harding who seemed to be running the scouts, Ella was itching for a good fight. Apparently, that was what she would get. Mages and Templars, destroying the idyllic countryside with their squabbling. Some things never changed. After Varric attempted some joke about ‘Harding in Hightown’ and Cassandra seemed ready to strangle him, Ella quickly thanked Harding and hurried down the grassy stretch to the Crossroads where, theoretically, they would meet Mother Giselle.

 

The path was lined with gore, evidence of the fighting they could expect ahead. Ella unsheathed her daggers, and she heard the chatter of gears as Bianca was drawn out. Turning a corner revealed Templars battering themselves against Inquisition forces, wearing down the already exhausted men. Throwing on a grin, Ella dived into the fray, twirling about the first man’s shield with a calculated flick of her wrist, relieving him of much of his chest piece when a key leather strap was clipped. Varric made quick work of him after that, nailing the poor sod in the ribs. Ella had already moved on to her next target, working quickly. These men were sloppy, poor excuses for Templars. Probably why they needed to prove themselves by hunting out mages even when they were specifically told not to.

 

“Incoming!” someone shouted. Ella glanced up to see a fireball screaming towards them, aim far from true; it crashed into a small pond instead. Shaking her head in disgust, Ella darted forward to take out their spellcasters, letting the others deal with the mercenaries. Honestly, this was getting sad. They were atrocious at close-range combat, firing off wild spells in the hopes of pegging her. Most mages she fought at least had a basic understanding of staff fighting, but evidently the Circles didn’t teach it and these mages had never bothered to learn after they rebelled. Instead, the man Ella was cornering sent a wave of ice towards her feet. A clever tactic, but one she had seen before; Ella leapt forward into a feet first slide, avoiding becoming trapped under the sheet and allowing the ice to carry her into an effective tackle. After knocking the startled mage down, they grappled for all of three seconds before Ella slammed a knee into his throat with enough force to crush the windpipe. Unfortunately, mages were always slippery about dying. Before she managed to completely snuff him out, the man hastily brought forth some form of fire rune beneath them both, and Ella barely managed to kick his grasping hands away and leap before the ground burst into a tower of flames. Still the spell had scorched her side, burning unnaturally hot through the leather. Her skin seethed and festered and pain lanced her as staggered to her feet, nose wrinkling at the stench of burning flesh. Before her, she could see more Templars battering the rest. Forcing the pain into a tight little box, Ella raced forward to help.

 

One lightly armored Templar fell to a well-placed throwing dagger, and the rest were brought down by the combined efforts of the group. Varric turned to her with a grin, hoisting Bianca across his shoulders.

 

“Well, that was a nice little soiree, wouldn’t you say, Dancer?” he said with a grin as she neared. Ella smiled in kind.

 

“Oh, I’m sure it would have been lovely if _someone_ hadn’t pulled an immolate out of his ass.” Ella moved a hand to uncover the blistering wound at her side. Varric winced sympathetically

 

“ _Shit_ Dancer, you should let a healer take a look at that.” Ella shrugged.

 

“There are plenty of soldiers and refugees who need healing, and I can wait. Let’s just find this ‘Mother Giselle’ first.” She didn’t give Varric an opportunity to argue, but gratefully accepted the healing potion he pressed into her palm.

 

A couple hours later and they left the Crossroads with the dubious assistance of Mother Giselle and a request for ram’s meat of all things. Well, they had some time to kill, Ella supposed, and that seemed easy enough. It would also give her an excuse to avoid Varric’s insistence that she visit a healer and provide them with the opportunity to accrue influence. All in all, she thought it was a good plan.

 

A couple of hours after _that_ and they came back to the Crossroads toting hastily bandaged wounds and a makeshift bearskin sack loaded with ram. The hunter they brought it to nearly cried with joy, and Ella was glad that _someone_ was having a good day because that bear had certainly ruined any chance of _her_ having one. Oh well.

 

On the way back to camp Ella managed to gather a large bundle of elfroot alongside some other choice herbs. Once there, she sat down in a sequestered spot and began to crush the mess with a mortar and pestle she had ‘borrowed’ from some Inquisition drawer. _I don’t need a damn healer,_ she thought, lifting her shirt with a wince. When the mixture was crushed to her satisfaction, she spread it along the burn, hissing through her teeth all the while. She made a sort of makeshift bandage with her tunic; the thing was already ruined, and bandages were hard to come by in a war. Giving the dressing a cursory once-over, Ella decided that it was good enough to get Varric off her back. She did _not_ need more healers putting their hands all over her, damn it.

 

After the glorious display that was sunset –the Hinterlands could be a beautiful place at times- Cassandra informed them that the next day would be dedicated to securing steeds from some horsemaster who had been cut off by the fighting. Made sense; troops need mounts. Ella nodded, took the first watch, as usual, ignored Solas’s pointed glare, and bid everyone a good night.

 

It took all of two hours for all hell to break loose. One second Ella was pacing the camp, eyes sharp against the darkness, and the next she heard the _zip_ of an arrow, dodging the thing in the nick of time. Even as the arrow trembled in the dirt behind her Ella loosed a knife with a snarl, and heard a satisfying hiss of pain from her assailant. Not dead, though; didn’t fall out of the tree. Her mind whirred into action as she let out the loudest war cry she could manage and darted forward, blades flashing against the moonlight.

 

Poor time for an ambush, speaking of, Ella noted as she left the archer devoid of a throat and gurgling in the brush. The moon was nearly full, and the light would betray any attempts at stealth. Behind her, Ella heard the distinct sounds of people hurriedly throwing on essentials and stumbling into the open as well as a small scuffle or two. Whoever attacked must have retreated just as quickly.

 

Content that her assistance was unneeded, Ella knelt to inspect the archer’s corpse. His clothes didn’t scream of any particular allegiance, which was odd; she had understandably expected a Templar or a mage. It was possible that he was a mercenary… she unbuttoned his coat, rifled through his pockets, hoping to find _something_ that might shed light on the matter. There, on his lapel, a metal symbol. It was difficult to see, even in the light of the moon, but she hissed as she rolled it beneath her fingers, recognizing the seal of a slaver. The immediate fears that screamed in her head were silenced with a huff. They could not have found her, and they most certainly would not waste resources looking for her. Some of the more bold slavers must have simply been taking advantage of the chaos caused by the mage rebellion. They must have mistaken them for a camp of refugees: easy prey.

 

Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Ella tore the button from his jacket and pocketed it. It wouldn’t do to trouble her newfound allies. If it became important she could always just tell Leliana, Ella reasoned. Even with her completely logical explanation, she couldn’t help but jump at every whisper of wind, and she didn’t need the Inquisition feeling the same paranoia. That’s all it was. Paranoia.

 

Back at camp, the Inquisition soldiers had taken care of the straggling slavers. Everyone seemed relieved to see her, and it occurred to Ella that they might have been worried about her absence. She hadn’t meant to cause concern, but she was so unused to working with partners and… _Kaffas_ , the slaver’s button felt heavy in her pocket, the collar hot on her neck.

 

“You alright, Dancer?” asked Varric, worry in his eyes.

 

“Always,” she grinned. Cassandra heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“Why is it that trouble insists on following you around,” the Seeker muttered.

 

“I can’t help having such a magnetic personality,” Ella replied with a grin. Cassandra groaned, and Varric chuckled. For once the two weren’t at each other’s throats, which she supposed was a small blessing.

 

They cleared the bodies, set extra watches, and bid each other good night. If Ella wasn’t going to sleep before, she sure as hell wasn’t now. Instead she spent the darkest hours composing intricate plans for potential escape attempts, should she be captured. Not particularly rational or grounded in reality, but it made her feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is slightly misleading; the bear is only mentioned in passing. But hey, it's the Hinterlands. You gotta have a bear. Don't blame me, it's the law. Contact your local congressman.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. This will start picking up more once we get some more characters (which will be soon), I promise.


	7. The Tevinter

The Hinterlands was not particularly novel after the first day. Upon sunrise they set about securing horses, which was a rather tedious affair of menial tasks and pest control and the occasional demon thrown in because apparently the whole mess wasn’t fun enough already. After that there was the simple matter of packing up and heading back to Haven, supposedly to act on the information Mother Giselle had so kindly provided them with. On the return journey Ella allowed herself a light doze in the saddle of her new and improved steed, trusting the horse to keep a steady pace and save her from too many jolts.

 

Haven was a bustle of activity, with pilgrims put to work staggering under crates of donations from kindly patrons who were no doubt nobles taking a risk in the hopes of future gains should the Inquisition flourish against all odds. Ella nearly tripped over a gaggle of children screeching underfoot like so many puppies. Evidently the hole in the sky hadn’t put a damper on their enthusiasm, something Ella was grateful for. At least someone was happy. Nearly everyone she saw had features set in a grim line of resigned determination, the look one sees on a man who knows he is going to die but will try his damnest to wriggle out of it anyway.

 

Leliana caught her arm the moment she reached the main gates and told her that a war meeting would be convening immediately. With a resentful glare at her bloodstained armor Ella followed, relinquishing all hopes of a wash in her near future. The downturned faces and palms raised in subservience grated on her every nerve as they traipsed through, Leliana seeming to be leading her by the most roundabout and densely populated route possible. _Showing off her figurehead,_ thought Ella rather morosely. _Raising me up on a pedestal. Hopefully I can be out of here by the time the whole thing crumbles beneath me._

 

The Chantry for once offered some sanctuary, and as she escaped the hopeful, pleading eyes Ella managed to relax the slightest bit, muscles loosening and the knot in her stomach uncoiling, still very much aware of the threat posed by the woman next to her. The Spymaster didn’t seem to pay her any mind, but Ella knew that she would be paying close attention if the Left Hand was even half as good as her reputation would suggest.

 

“I trust you found Mother Giselle?” Leliana finally asked as they neared the war room.

 

“I’m sure you can trust in that just as much as _I_ can trust in your people having given you a full report before I arrived,” Ella replied reaching ahead to hold open the door with a cordial smile, one which the Spymaster returned as she accepted the gesture and walked towards the table where the Seeker, the Commander, and the Ambassador were all poring over maps and letters.

 

“Very perceptive,” said the Spymaster, taking a position at the table.

 

“I aim to please,” muttered Ella absentmindedly, placing a hand against the course wood as she looked over the map. It was a very general piece of cartography, and so though it encapsulated a wide area it portrayed nothing with great detail. A few pins marked areas of interest and operations that were already underway. “As I’m sure you know, Mother Giselle has suggested that we speak to the Chantry, try and splinter their resolve.”

 

“I suspected she would say as much,” said the Spymaster, a pin dancing between long slender fingers. “Although I’m more interested in a certain encounter between your party and a band of… I am led to believe that they were bandits?”

 

There was no point in lying; her asking the question meant that she either already knew or she had her suspicions. If Ella didn’t fess that would only mean _more_ digging, and she certainly could not afford that.

 

“Slavers,” Ella said, ignoring the immediate tension in the room. She dug the button from her pocket and tossed it on the table. “Not particularly professional. Probably desperate to make a quota and taking advantage of the chaos caused by the mage-templar war.” The Spymaster nodded, reaching for the button.

 

“Why didn’t you-?” began Cassandra in a blusterous anger, but Ella quickly cut her off.

 

“It wouldn’t do to worry you unnecessarily. The situation was under control, from what I remember.”

 

“Are you certain of your safety, Lady Herald?” asked the Ambassador, and Ella might have bristled but for the concern plain in her voice. Instead she smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring.

 

“I am not a Lady, Ambassador,” Ella chuckled. “And I wouldn’t call myself a Herald, either. But to answer your question: there is currently a hole in the sky, a dead Divine, and rifts springing up across the countryside intent on spitting out as many demons as possible. And my hand is now tied up in that mess. So no, I am not certain of my safety.”

 

“She was talking about the slavers,” said the Commander, exasperated.

 

“The slavers are a non-issue. They have nothing to do with me, and no one is stupid enough to target fully armored and healthy women. I will be fine.”

 

“They targeted our camp,” said the Seeker.

 

“They were mistaken. We drove them off quickly once they realized the camp was armed and guarded. They must have thought us to be refugees.” Ella was getting a bit short at the fixation on this topic. “I believe we have _important_ matters to discuss?”

 

Reluctantly they all nodded in agreement and set about unraveling the Gordian knot that was mongering up enough influence to approach someone about closing the Breach. When it was decided after much back and forth that their best course of action would be to speak to the clerics, Ella was mortified at the revelation that it was _her_ they were going to send. “’You have the mark’,” Ella muttered under her breath as they went their separate ways. “Well I also have a dagger that I could stick in your-“

 

“Dancer! You look particularly chipper today,” piped Varric as she walked past.

 

“Of course,” Ella forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “I’m positively brimming with joy at the prospect of convincing a bunch of old sods that I’m not a demon sent to murder their families.”

 

“Sounds like you could use a helping hand on this little venture.”

 

“What?” Ella looked up sharply. Varric was gazing at her intently, no hint of a jest in his eyes. “You can’t be serious. They want me dead, or have you not heard Chancellor Roderick’s shrieking?” She doubted this was the case; the man insisted on parking himself right outside of the Chantry, screaming at passersby.

 

“All the more reason to tag along.” The dwarf patted his crossbow fondly.

 

“You, my friend, have a knack for being in the most dangerous place possible,” Ella said with a laugh, shaking her head ever so slightly.  


“What can I say; it’s a gift.” Varric beamed as he shrugged his shoulders. Though he held himself high, stress wore lines in his face and tugged at his smile. Ella actually _had_ read Tale of the Champion, though she would deny it till her dying breath, and it was easily deduced that the dwarf was missing his old friends and struggling to stay afloat in this new environment. Varric, she reasoned, was devoting himself to their cause. It was the least she could do to ease his stress by acting the sarcastic little shit he was used to dealing with.

 

“Well pack your most ruffle-tastic outfit, Teapot,” she said. “I’ve heard it’s all the rage among the sophisticated.”

  
“I will accompany you as well.” It took every ounce of Ella’s willpower to calm her fluttered nerves and keep herself from wincing when Solas spoke. She smiled at him, meeting eyes that rang with challenge.

 

“Are you sure that is wise?” she asked. “You are, after all, an apostate.”

 

“All mages are technically apostates,” Solas replied coolly.

 

“Yes, but ‘technically’ doesn’t change much when it comes to sentiment. You are clearly not circle-bred. It might provoke no small amount of outrage.”

 

“Or it might convince the mob that swarming you would be dangerous.” Solas glanced towards the Breach. “It appears that you need all the help you can get.”

 

Ella fumed, biting back a retort that she was just fine on her own, thanks. It wasn’t clearly a dig at her, and could just have easily meant the Inquisition. At this very moment Varric was watching them with rapt attention, eyes narrowing slightly. She couldn’t afford to lose friends, the elf had a point, and she needed to resolve this.

 

“Then I’m sure you will be welcome on our little trip,” Ella said, the words grating at her throat. Solas looked pleased, almost gloating as he replied.

 

“Thank you, Herald. I hope the people’s faith in you isn’t ill founded. There is much that rests on your shoulders.”

 

Ella’s smile twisted ever so slightly; the words cut deeper than he knew. Surely he only meant it as a passing gibe, she reasoned as she forced the muscles in her face to relax. His triumph grew to intolerable heights when it was clear that he had gotten to her, and so Ella was quick to respond.

 

“I’m sure you are mistaken, master Solas.” With that he stiffened. Something there, something she was missing although she couldn’t place it. It was meant as a casual reminder of what she was, but he received it as something more. Good. “I am not, as you seem to think, the woman in charge of this lovely bunch; that would be Cassandra and Leliana. The Left and Right Hands, hunting down the Divine’s killer; fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Yeah, but you’re the one with the hand, Dancer,” Varric cut in.

 

“And the one with Andraste’s blessing,” said Solas.

 

“That first thing is coincidence, and the second is bullshit. I am not in charge here. If I was, do you think I’d be going to Val Royeaux?”

 

“Where would you be, then?” Solas asked, the question loaded with expectation.

 

“As far away as possible.” Ella met his vehement disapproval with a smile. “Not all of us have the luxury of conjuring up a fireball when it all goes to shit.” _And running is all I know how to do._

 

“I’m glad that the people have elected someone so self-centered as a savior,” Solas ground out before stalking away. Varric watched him until he disappeared around a corner, and then turned to Ella.

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“Oh, you know. Just a friendly discussion amongst friends. So much friendship.” Her palm fizzled and she clenched it tightly to her side, even as Varric leveled a look of pure disbelief at her. Ella sighed. “Look, I’m sure you’ve been able to tell that my feelings for the apostate are… less than cordial.”

 

“A bit of an understatement, but go on,” Varric snorted.

 

“There is nothing else to say. We just… we don’t mix. It’s nothing personal.” But it was. It very much was. She disliked him for a number of very complex, _very_ personal reasons that she didn’t care to share. She was sure he felt the same. There was no need to unload that on Varric.

 

“Well, that’s a shame. Chuckles is a riot.”

 

“I’m sure.” Ella’s smile was strained. “Now, if I am not mistaken, we have a trip to Val Royeaux to prepare for.”

 

The trip was long but uneventful, and though occasionally a rift might spring up it was easily dealt with. Ella was able to sequester the realization that she was fighting demons until long after the ordeals, when she could sneak off into the woods and batter herself against a tree until she finally caught a few short hours of blessed rest. If Solas noticed he didn’t comment, for which Ella was grateful. Wandering about like that was dangerous, but she saw no other alternative save _talking_ about her problems, something that was laughable to even consider. She could not trust these people any more than they could throw her.

 

Of course, Val Royeaux was crawling with Templars. Ella tugged on her scarf nervously, keeping a wary distance from the clanking armor and blazing insignia. The collar was dead, this much was true, but there was a lingering fear that it would spark to life at any moment. If it did, the Templars would certainly be able to sense it. That would be unfortunate.

 

Although the woman speaking out against them was irritating at best and threatening at worst, it was difficult to suppress a snarl as the Templar knocked the old windbag to the ground with a solid hook. Still, she managed, keeping her expression level as she made eye contact with the Lord Seeker. There was something about him that struck her as odd and familiar, a certain flicker in his gaze. It was difficult to catch, even with him staring her down like a hawk might a hare. That alone was unsettling, and Ella did not need his subsequent announcements about the new nature of the Templar order to solidify her exceedingly negative opinion of him.

 

After that ordeal, almost getting hit by a message bearing arrow and the subsequent goose-chase that followed seemed almost relaxing, and as they found the clues pointing towards a malcontent who would need to be eliminated Ella could feel her spirits flutter in an attempt to rise, only to be immediately pinned to the ground by the double-magic-takedown that consisted of an invitation to a party run by Lady Vivienne herself and a plea from the Grand Enchanter to at least visit Redcliffe. The combination of Templars and magic left her jittery and eager to stab someone, so she opted to check out this man the notes had led them to against the warnings of her companions.

 

The blonde elf was a little off-kilter but if Ella played her cards right she was sure that this “Red Jenny” could be useful. Vivienne was more pleasant than Ella might have expected, obviously proficient in magic, circle-trained, very much in control. The knowledge that _this_ mage at least wouldn’t go summoning demons on her made Ella at least a tad more comfortable, although she found it difficult to relax for a whole separate host of reasons. First and foremost being that this was a woman who played the Game, and one who played it well. Vivienne seemed to appreciate Ella’s particular talent for mincing words. Ella appreciated Vivienne’s poise and skill. The arrangement for the Madame de Fer to join the Inquisition went off without a hitch.

 

When they arrived at Haven, new companions in tow, everything seemed more or less the same with men and women alike bustling about in a desperate attempt to do the work of ten times their numbers. Ella dismounted with a groan, patting her horse absentmindedly as she stretched out the kinks in her back. She was going to be sore for the next couple days at least. The only solace was the knowledge that her work seemed to be over and that next couple of days would be full of rest and relaxation. She could have sworn that the universe itself laughed at such a thought.

 

Immediately Ella saw that, though it usually housed no small amount of women dressed in the religious garb, the path in front of the Chantry was empty. It was easy to find the source of this oddity, although not the cause: a man stood there awkwardly, trying to catch the attention of a number of people as they rushed by, seemingly intent on ignoring him. Intrigued, Ella walked over.

 

There didn’t seem to be a reason for the wide berth everyone was giving him, nor was there a cause for the immediate distrust Ella felt as she neared. Something struck her about this man, something familiar and altogether distasteful. Just as she pieced it together he opened his mouth once more.

 

“Hello? I have a message, if you’ve got the time. No one seems to be listening to me.”

 

Tevinter. He was a damned _Tevinter_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've skimmed over a bunch of the characters, but Bull's will be next and in more detail. Don't worry, Sera and Vivienne will be back. It just seemed boring to go over quests that we've all played before.
> 
> Yeah, Ella has a bit of ingrained prejudice. Luckily, Krem is only a Soporati. Enough to piss her off, but not enough to make her freak out. There's a certain Altus in our future who will have a rough time...
> 
> Next: Spy Battles: The Re-Spyening


	8. The Test

Ella didn’t know what the man said next. Instead her entire body struggling against itself, feeling the urge to leap forward into an attack while her mind screamed at her to run. Torn between fight and flight, frozen, blank, unmoving and almost unliving, can’t breathe can’t

 

 _Breathe_. This was a Soporati; she could tell by his bearing, his speech. Military. No, _ex_ -military. Mercenary. That was what he was talking about. A mercenary company, Storm Coast, something to do with Tevinter smugglers (fuck fuck fuck-), a man named Iron Bull. Odd name. Fake name. Stage name? _Bull_. Tal-Vashoth? Probably legit. Tal-Vashoth _plus Tevinter ex-military_??? Less so. Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, _put it in a box and_ -

 

“Um, are you okay?” He looked concerned, a tad panicked; why wouldn’t he be? Currently Ella was staring him down with too-wide eyes, fists clenched tight at her side, body tensed and squared for a fight. Thankfully the rest of her face had fallen into practiced neutrality that had become an apt defense-mechanism over the years. She forced reluctant muscles to relax, drew her mouth into a smile.

 

“Apologies,” she said, voice blessedly even. “You just look like someone I knew.”

 

Immediately his demeanor changed to one of pity, sympathy; he assumed it was someone who was dead, based on her violent reaction. Good, good, this was good. She could do this. _Breathe_. The Tevinter continued, albeit reluctantly.

 

“Well, as I was saying, The Bull’s Chargers are the best company you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast if you want to see us in action.”

 

“Thank you, I’d suggest speaking to our Ambassador, Lady Josephine. I’m afraid this is all above me.” Ella motioned for the man to follow, suppressed shudders when he did. It was years before he was safely shut up in the Ambassador’s office, ages before she made it back to her cabin. She locked the door with shaking hands and immediately collapsed, huddled in a shivering ball against the bedframe.

 

~~~

 

The Storm Coast was, predictably, very wet. Cursing the apt naming process of Fereldans Ella donned a hood that smelled of mold but thankfully shed water like a duck’s feathers and fidgeted at her new and improved gloves that did not seem to possess the same quality. Already her fingers were growing numb from the drizzle, an unwelcome feeling when she knew there might be 'Vints around any corner. Muttering under her breath, she deflected attempts at small-talk by Varric and attempted to ignore Solas and his casual use of magic. This whole expedition grated on her nerves. Of course Ella could see the practicality of obtaining mercenaries, especially when their own forces were so small. That didn’t mean she had to like it. And that definitely didn’t mean that she was the best person for the job. It was ridiculous. Why did they give her a house if she was never going to be able to use it?

 

Luckily the map was quite clear, and even in the rain the Charger’s camp was easy to find. Not so easily found were the Charger’s themselves. The camp was empty, dirt hastily tossed over smoldering embers, tents left empty and sagging under the rain. Hasty footprints led towards the beach, and Ella heard the faint shouts and shrieks of fighting on the sea-salt breeze. If Ella was on edge before, it was nothing compared to now. Those were no doubt _Tevinters_  ahead, and that knowledge alone was enough to boil her blood and send sparks up her spine. Already red threatened her vision as she left her companions behind and darted towards the fighting, daggers flashing in her hands and the taste of the Fade on her tongue as her mark rippled and popped. The trees thinned and the soil gave way to loose sand until, all at once, a vast beach opened up in front of her, its sand already splattered with scarlet as the violent scuffle raged.

 

 ~~~

 

The Iron Bull would later say that the first time he saw the Herald of Andraste he thought she must be a rage demon incarnate.

 

Nothing had gone according to plan that day. The Storm Coast would do that to you. First their packs were soaked by a particularly heavy rainfall. Finding a campsite had been a disaster. At least three bears attacked them before they finally settled down amongst a dense bunch of trees that looked as if they might provide some protection from the rain, but instead only funneled the water directly onto their already drenched heads. And, finally, although he had wanted to wait at the camp until the Inquisition people arrived, the 'Vints had been a step ahead of his intelligence and they were forced to strike early. So, as he yanked his axe from a Tevinter skull The Iron Bull was in an understandably gloomy mood, one even putting down these smugglers couldn’t rectify. The entire thing had been botched, and they’d be pressed twice as hard to secure a job within the Inquisition. Not that he didn’t think his boys were capable of it, but it was just another pain in his ass that would keep him up at night.

 

So when The Iron Bull heard a strangled shout ring out from the trees, he braced himself for yet another setback. Understandably he was more than a little surprised when a lithe figure streaked into the fray, blades sinking into the shoulder of an unlucky spellcaster. Startled, the man raised his bladed staff, but the girl simply ducked the blow with a wrench of her daggers, drawing them up to his throat and claiming his life with a flourish. She seemed young for one so capable, Bull noted with a narrowed eye as she twirled into her next assault, her eyes focusing on a particularly ugly looking bruiser hefting a massive broadsword. The girl _dived_ into her attack, rolling past a heavy blow that left sand flying where she had been but a moment before. In an instant the man collapsed with a gurgling scream, a ribbon of crimson across his throat. Before he even hit the ground the girl darted towards a third 'Vint, her motions fluid and graceful in a way Bull hadn’t seen since his run in with the Fog Warriors on Seheron. Different, though, in a way he couldn’t place. Another body thudded to the ground and he caught sight of the faint Inquisition insignia emblazoned on the blur of her gloves. The Iron Bull leaned on his greataxe with a lopsided grin, content to sit back and watch the show as in a breathtaking amount of time the Chargers found themselves confused and directionless, with no foe in sight. The girl herself looked the same, arcs of blood cascading from her twitching daggers as her eyes darted wildly, chest heaving in a way that did not speak of exhaustion but of an abundance of emotion: fear or anger her did not know. Probably both. Only for a moment, though, a flash so brief that he might have convinced himself it had never happened had he been a lesser man. As it was, he watched her pull the pieces of herself back into place, straighten into a graceful poise and an expressionless mask. It was a captivating process.

 

As she finally stilled Bull was able to take in her admittedly impressive figure. Red definitely worked for her, he decided as she made her way over to him with purpose, returning his easy grin as she did so. Bold, too. He didn’t seem to intimidate her. In fact… there was the slightest twitch in her shoulders, a protective hunch immediately suppressed when Krem neared. He nodded as his second asked if the throat-cutters should comb the field and noted the miniscule relaxation in the girl’s muscles when his Tevinter lieutenant left his side. _Interesting_. Judging by her aggressive display against those smugglers, the girl had it out for ‘Vints. He would definitely tuck that away for later, try and work through the numerous possibilities. She had reached him, taken up a position just far enough that she didn’t have to look up _too_ much. Restraining his grin, he straightened to full height, stretching his arms out a bit for show. The girl pursed her lips, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

 

“I’m going to assume that you are The Iron Bull,” she said. Her voice was harsh, but had all of the qualities of once being soft. It was as if she hadn’t spoken in quite a while.

 

“That’s me,” he replied. “And I’m assuming that you’re with the Inquisition.”

 

“Perceptive.” At that she examined her hand, seemingly glancing at the eye on her glove. There was the faintest flicker of green against the weather-stained leather.

 

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect them to send the Herald of Andraste to deal with a merc company.”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t be the only one,” she said, irritation coloring her words in a way that suggested she was purposefully inserting the emotio. Subtle, but still enough for him to catch.

 

“I also didn’t expect the Herald to be so adept with daggers.”

 

“My name is Ella, The Iron Bull.”

 

“Nice name.” He shot her that ridiculous one-eyed wink that he knew left many disarmed with its absurdity. Not her, though, she only frowned. “Nice evasion, too.”

 

“I didn’t pick it, but no matter. And that wasn’t an evasion, I just wanted to clarify.”

 

“Still evading…”

  
“You never asked a question. Yes, I am good with knives. It’s useful.”

 

A shout from Skinner told him that more Inquisition people were approaching.

 

“Friends of yours?” he asked easily as he motioned towards the new arrivals.

 

“Debatable. Acquaintances, maybe? I know their names.” As she said this, the dwarf of their company smiled.

 

“Aw, Dancer, you know my name? I’m touched.”

 

“Sure thing… pal,” Ella smirked. The dwarf placed a hand to his chest in horror, and Bull snorted. At the sound she turned back to him, face melting into neutrality. Damn was that fascinating. “On to business. You seem capable. I’m sure you’re well worth the money. I _am_ the slightest bit… wary, about your choice of companions.”

 

Instantly Bull’s smile grew strained. “Anyone in particular?”

 

“Well, your Dalish mage might turn some heads. If not her, then perhaps the casteless dwarf? Even you, The Iron Bull. We have an image to maintain; I’m sure you understand. Honestly what worries _me_ most is your second.”

 

“Krem is damn good,” Bull snapped, his temper getting the better of him for a moment. Instantly she had him on the defensive. “And if you didn’t want to ‘turn heads’ you wouldn’t have broken off from the Chantry.”

 

“I’m sure,” she said with a smile that said she wasn’t. “I am still not particularly inclined to trust a Soporati who even _Tevinter_ didn’t want. That isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.” Bull was having serious difficulty with his composure now, a storm just beneath his placid exterior. He could snap her neck right then and there was nothing she could do about it. In fact was halfway through planning exactly how he might be able to get away with it when the next damn thing came out of her mouth.

 

“Are you alright there, The Iron Bull? You seem to be struggling. Was something I said too complicated for you? I tried to use words under three syllables, but maybe that was too high a bar.”

 

Did she _want_ to die? “Sorry, I just couldn’t hear you from all the way down there. Maybe you should get a ladder. You could build one from the pile of corpses you’ve so effectively created.”

 

“Well, at least I’m effective,” she said, a bit short. Heh. Short. “While we’re on the subject, who was your handler, Hissrad?”

 

“Who was your master, slave?” he snapped, raw fury and no small amount of confusion struggling to break free. How the _hell_ did she know? Was he so obvious? He managed to scrub panic from his face and substitute rage instead as he stared her down, her face infuriatingly placid though occasionally he could catch a ripple of something else.

 

Their eyes were locked for what felt like an age, until finally Ella broke into a wide grin. The adversarial tilt to her posture melted away, leaving only a friendly glint to her eye and a relaxed posture that caught him off guard as his own anger reflexively thawed in response.

 

“I’ll put you in contact with our Ambassador for payment, The Iron Bull. You can make some arrangement or another with our Spymaster about your Ben Hassrath connections; I’m sure they could be of considerable use to our cause. If you’d like we can go back together. I’m eager to leave this shit-hole, aren’t you?” With that she pivoted into a graceful about-face and made her way towards the Seeker, presumably to brief her on whatever the hell had just happened. Krem approached him warily.

 

“What the _fuck_ was that, chief?” he asked, anger and confusion tempering his voice.

 

“A good question, Krem,” began Bull slowly, a smile beginning to creep across his face. “I believe that was a test.”

 

She was good. Dangerously so. The Iron Bull chuckled. It would be nice to have a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spy Wars ~spy wars~ SPY WARS
> 
> I'm just really excited okay
> 
> As always thank you for reading my trash, feel free to drop a comment. Most of this stuff is pretty unedited so there might be some typos or clunky phrasing that you are welcome to correct me on or ask me about. Trust me, now that Bull is here this party will really pick up.
> 
> Also, if there's any confusion about the 'test' I will gladly clarify. I just don't want to overexplain for fear of ruining it, but at the same time I'm worried that it wasn't entirely clear.


	9. Even More Rain

“Rain,” muttered Ella between a series of carefully chosen curses. She fiddled with the saddlebags on her horse, grumbling as she did so. “More rain, and, wow, would you look at that? even more rain.”

 

“Lighten up Dancer,” called Varric from his stout pony who was now looking just as bedraggled as Ella felt.

 

“Oh I am positively radiant, Varric.” There was a sharp intake of breath that coalesced into an angry hiss as water wormed its way past her many layers and down her back. “Absolutely beaming. I would blind weaker men.”

 

“A little water never hurt anyone.” That was The Iron Bull, from further down the line. Ella shifted slightly in her saddle, giving him the most withering glare she could muster. It was disconcerting, how he insisted on riding a little ways behind, and though the rational Ella knew it was only because he wanted to be able to see the whole party so as to better fulfill his job, a more paranoid whisper in her mind insisted that he was just waiting to strike. She resigned herself to keeping him in her peripheral, something she was sure he would notice but likely wouldn’t care. It wasn’t personal, and he probably knew that. Just like he probably knew that she herself was more than she let on. Kaffas, it always was difficult to keep tabs on someone so like herself.

 

Difficult, but not impossible. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the bewilderment that had ever so briefly flashed across his face when she had called him out on being Ben-Hassrath. Catching someone like him off guard always had given Ella this warm and fuzzy thrum in her chest, similar to the effect of a little too much liquor. It was dangerous, though, and might not have been worth the rush. The more Ella thought on it, the more she felt as if she could have pushed him towards snapping without bringing up his real occupation. Perhaps she had overplayed her hand, giving him too much. Then again, maybe he would assume that she had gotten the information from the Spymaster. Of course, he might… agh, playing this kind of game with other members of her… profession always had a way of wearing on her. It was hard to predict the actions of someone also reading you, near impossible to take into account constant adjustments that the skilled might make for something as simple as a twitch of a muscle. Maybe she should have played dumb. _He would have found out anyway_. There was just no right answer. Ella ground her teeth as yet another glob of rain smacked her right in the face. _It’ll be what it’ll be._

 

She could feel his eyes on the small of her back when they settled for a soggy campsite –the rain had chased them even this far away from the Storm Coast- and even caught the cursory gaze drift a tad lower than what might be acceptable in other circles. Nothing she could do about it without giving away that _she_ was watching _him_. This was absolutely infuriating; almost as bad as talking to the Spymaster. Everything she said, and even how she said it, would be heavily scrutinized. Kaffas, why had she suggested they travel back together?

 

_To observe._ Sitting a little ways from the others, hunched over and raking the embers of a dying fire, she did just that.

 

The Iron Bull was tall, even for a qunari. He had a certain _look_ she had learned to pinpoint during her darker Tevinter days, a kind of sincere certainty in his eyes that he was doing what he was meant to do. It told her that he still followed the Qun. Something else, though, something sharper than the average grunt. He saw more than he let on, his eyes darted towards the important things, the things it would be useful to notice. Besides all that, the very fact that he was permitted to stray so far from Par Vollen indicated that he was a Ben-Hassrath agent. Hissrad was an easy leap; she just needed to quickly juggle some snippets of information to finish that little puzzle.

 

This, however, was no longer helpful. He was dangerous; she already knew this, could read it during their first encounter. There was more. There was always more. Ella allowed her eyes to stray ever so slightly from the fire, managed to feign a glance at the star-swathed sky.

 

She caught a glimpse of his leg, the brace that encased it with steel and leather. Expensive, fine craftsmanship. Obviously his mercenary career had been successful, even if it was just a cover for his true purpose. Missing a few fingers. All the scars indicated a war veteran. Or maybe just a seasoned mercenary. Ella might have cursed, but she needed to assume that he was watching. _Patience_. She could almost hear her trainer whispering at the back of her mind. Slowly rising to her feet, she tried for another lookover.

 

Definitely burn wounds, probably magical in origin. Mercenaries didn’t usually go after escaped circle mages; that was the Templars’s job. War veteran, then. Seheron was always the safe bet for qunari veterans, but she couldn’t be sure. Best not to act on that assumption; she tucked it away at the back of her mind.

 

Just as she was completing a little mental reorganization of every single fact she had managed to glean, Ella opened the flap of the tent she shared with Cassandra. She would certainly not sleep tonight with this unfamiliar merc crew on her doorstep, but there was no way that she would take the first watch when it would surely lead to even further scrutiny. Before she could duck under the canvas, however, she caught a blur of grey from the corner of her eye. It was the only warning she had before a heavy weight clapped down on her shoulder, and the only thing that saved the qunari from a fist in his face. As it was, Ella turned towards him expectantly, brow arched ever so slightly.

 

“Hey, boss, can we talk before you hit the sack?” Ella had never been able to describe a man’s voice as a _rumble_ , and yet that was the closest word she could find. He sounded something akin to a mountain just before an avalanche. It made her nervous.

 

She simply nodded and allowed herself to be escorted towards a thicker copse of trees, eyes narrowing when she noticed a distinct lack of Inquisition soldiers in this specific area of the small camp they had established. He must have noticed, because he chuckled.

 

“I’m not going to kill you. How would I get paid?” he flashed her what she assumed was meant to be a winning smile; she met it with a safe cold indifference.

 

“Is there something you wished to discuss?” She settled on polite for her wording, still unsure as to how he might be played.

 

“Business, actually.”

 

“I’m afraid that I am but a lowly agent of the Inquisition, The Iron Bull,” said Ella through a smile. “Any financial discussion would be best had with our lovely ambassador-“

 

“You’re the Herald. Don’t try to deflect.”

 

“Of course,” Ella’s voice turned course as a slow anger simmered beneath her skin. “I am the Herald. Blessed of Andraste. My flaming hand and I are at your service.”

 

“Wow, touchy subject.”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about the coin. Not with you, anyway, obviously I want to talk about it eventually, it’s very important to me-“

 

“The point, please.”

 

“Of course,” The Iron Bull replied with a lopsided grin. “I’ll be blunt. As the figurehead of this organization, you’re going to make a lot of enemies. You’d do well to invest in a bodyguard.”

 

_There was a moment of confusion when Ella forgot exactly what it was she was trying to do._

 

Ella didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or scream. In a fortunate turn of events, the two reactions strangled each other deep in her core, leaving her with a knot in her chest but mercifully silent. As she collected her person, painfully aware of the keen eyes across from her taking in every twitch of a muscle, every dart of the eyes, Ella cursed her incompetence. She really was out of practice if a little comment like that could set her off. _Breathe, breathe,_ breathe. _Put it in a box and_ -

 

“I think that I am perfectly capable on my own, thank you,” she said at last, forcing her panic into a cocky assurance, her fear into resentment.

 

“Yeah, but it’s always good to have someone watching your back,” he said, not giving the slightest reaction to her brief meltdown. But he noticed. He must have noticed.

 

“Hmph. Would you say that I need an _extra pair of eyes_?” asked Ella innocently.

 

The Iron Bull laughed, a great booming thing that might shake mountains to their roots. It was rich and sincere, and Ella rather liked it. _Dangerous_. A singular warning bell fired in the depths of her mind. _What he wants you to feel_. And yet it didn’t seem malicious, not to her.

 

“Well, I can’t give you that,” said Bull, the great qunari finally winding down from his laughing fit. “But I do have an axe.” He patted said axe fondly. Almost too fondly. _Does everyone here have some weird weapon fetish?_

 

“Good enough, I suppose.” Somehow he had disarmed her, made her feel more comfortable. Another bell clamored for attention. Ella gritted her teeth into a smile. “Welcome to the team, The Iron Bull.”

 

“Sure thing, Boss.” He extended one hand and Ella repressed a wince as she reciprocated.

 

“My name is Ella.”

 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said with what she could only presume was an exaggerated wink. She couldn’t help but laugh at that, even as his hand enveloped her own. She had never thought of herself as small or weak, but compared to him… It would be good to have him on her side, she reasoned. He was strong, he was smart, and he had connections. So Ella muffled the bells and tucked them in their own personal box. She’d just have to be careful.

 

 

The journey back to Haven was uneventful, as were the next several days. All logistics and paperwork and menial tasks that set Ella at ease with their familiarity. There was something soothing about the mindless work that was heaving a sack of flour across the village, something rhythmic about the ache in her muscles and the sweat beading across her brow. It was its own kind of rest, which was just as well because Ella hadn’t been able to sleep since they had reached Haven. Whenever she felt herself drifting the Breach crackled menacingly at the fringes of her vision, her own palm thrumming with energy alongside it. Dreams under these conditions would not be happy. So Ella worked, and worked, and worked, and hoped that no one would notice. She should have known her luck had never been that strong.

 

It was Varric who finally needled her into joining them in the tavern, the dwarf painfully persistent when it came to sharing drinks. He managed to convince her with a round on him, though honestly she wasn’t sure where he was getting the money, nor where she might get some of her own. So as Ella, defeated, pushed open the tavern doors and allowed the liquor-tinged warmth to wash over her, she was met with the raucous cries of a familiar dwarf.

 

“Dancer! I was wondering when you would join us.” The dwarf was perched on a stool, obviously just having told a story to an enraptured audience. Said audience consisted of Sera, a very uncomfortable looking Solas, Bull, a smattering of the Chargers, and, surprisingly enough, Cullen. Ella hadn’t read the Commander as the sort to shirk his duties in order to go drinking, but then again she hadn’t looked into him all that much. The Spymaster was still her top priority, with the Ambassador close behind. The Iron Bull was high on the list.

 

“I told you I would be coming by tonight Varric.” Ella took a proffered seat with a gracious smile. “I also believe there was something said about buying me a drink…?”

 

Varric gave her his best mortified look before waving over a barmaid. “You think I would forget a promise like that? You wound me.”

 

“By all means, continue your story,” said Ella when she finally had a drink in hand. Varric waved her away, settling into his seat.

 

“Nah, I was already finished. The one about you and the pride demon, remember?”

 

“How could I forget? I think my ribs are still sore.”

 

The Iron Bull roared out a laugh that was loud and dangerous but still somehow made her want to smile. She scowled instead.

 

“I could totally see you doing something stupid like that, boss.”

 

“Careful Bull.” Ella shot him a wink. “Still haven’t paid you yet.”

 

“Yeah, but your Ambassador has. And I’ve already talked to your Spymaster. I’m all set.”

 

“Hmph. Well, I suppose my ego could take a few blows.” Ella took a long swig from her mug, barely registering the taste. “Well, would anyone else like to share a story? I think we are _all_ tired of Teapot’s ramblings by now.”

 

To his credit, Varric managed to look the most offended she had ever seen him, though she did catch the faintest twitch of a smile at her lips. The Iron Bull shifted in his chair, the thing screeching a protest as he settled his eye on her intently.

 

“How about you, boss?”

 

Vishante _kaffas_. She muffled panic with laughter and waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t have any stories.”

 

“Oh, come on Dancer!” chuckled Varric. “Someone with your skills, I’m sure you have plenty to tell.”

 

She could have throttled the dwarf, though she knew he meant well. Open up, get to know the crew, improve team efficiency and get people to like her. But The Iron Bull was sitting right their, a smug grin on his face when he realized that he had her in a corner. There was only one thing to do in a situation like this.

 

“Let me reiterate.” She put on cool disregard. “I don’t have any stories you want to hear.”

 

That did the trick. Most were silent as eyes drifted uncomfortably to her neck. The Commander coughed nervously. The Iron Bull’s smile twitched downwards the slightest bit, but to her great chagrin it still endured.

 

“There must be something good, boss,” he pressed, despite an uncomfortable glance from Varric. “It can’t be all bad.”

 

She could have convinced herself that he sounded gentle, perhaps even sad, but that couldn’t be the case. He was just trying to manipulate her again, like she might another. It was a familiar ruse, and she refused to fall for it.

 

“I’ll try to think of something,” she agreed with a light laugh, feeling as the tension began to ease. Damn it, but maybe she could push it off until another night. That might give her more time to think up a reasonable lie. The Iron Bull, of course, had other plans.

 

“Just tell us when you’re ready,” he piped cheerfully with an easy smile. Eyes turned to her expectantly, and she could almost feel them branded on her flesh. A story. A good story. A _happy_ story. Surely there was one.

 

She gritted her teeth. Most would give away to much about her past. She needed something inane, something that didn’t really matter much. But it also needed to be important enough to be told. Maybe she could twist something that already existed into an acceptable tale. And get a few digs in at Bull as payback.

 

“Once I met a demon,” she began a bit haltingly. The Iron Bull stiffened the slightest bit, and she smiled. “We hit it off. At least I think. That’s the thing about demons, you never really know if you’re, you know, pals or whatever.”

 

Solas spoke up, and Ell resisted the urge to ground her teeth. “What manner of spirit was this?” he asked as politely as could be.

 

“If you’re asking for a name, it was Malice.” Ella grinned as he paled slightly.

 

“That’s not much of a story, Dancer,” said Varric.

 

“Well I’m not much of a storyteller, Teapot,” she replied with a shrug.

 

She thanked every deity she knew that they left it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading. Feel free to leave a comment about anything!


	10. Asala-taar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I was a bit nervous about this chapter, but the thing flowed so naturally when I wrote it that I'm just going to post it.
> 
> TW for PTSD and flashbacks.

Ella took pangs to avoid both The Iron Bull and Solas after that little incident, and so she leapt at the opportunity to follow some lead in the Hinterlands about a Warden. Although she feared the Spymaster, Ella also respected Leliana’s opinion and agreed that the sudden disappearance of the Wardens was odd and definitely worthy of investigation. So that was how, several days of bears and mud and rustic charm later, Ella returned to Haven with Warden Blackwall in tow. There was something odd about him, but considering how little she knew about Wardens that wasn’t all that unusual. He wasn’t high on her threat list, anyway; he rather reminded her of an oversized dog. With a lot of fur.

 

Their arrival at Haven was met with little fanfare, for which Ella was grateful. She slipped off of her horse with little ceremony and bid Blackwall farewell as he made his way over to the smithy for whatever reason. Leading her horse to the paddock brought her uncomfortably close to Charger tents, and so she tried to work as quickly as possible, clumsy fingers tugging at straps and loops in a bid to yank the stupid saddle from the horse. When finally she felt that she had done an acceptable job Ella walked briskly past the tents and up towards the impressive doors of Haven.

 

Instantly she was accosted by one of Leliana’s people –where was she finding them?- who directed her towards the Chantry. With a sigh Ella stretched her arms over her head, feeling her back release in a satisfying _crack_ before she nodded and made her way towards the war room.

 

Mages or Templars. The decision seemed obvious to her. Ella’s fingers drummed the solid wood as the others argued, her eyes sweeping the map and taking note of every marker and its meaning. Even if miraculously she would be able to walk through Redcliffe without breaking down or, worse, drawing blood, there was no way that this ‘Herald’ was going to let a motley crew of mages use her as a conduit.

 

When she expressed such a sentiment, she was less than warmly received. Immediately Josephine and Leliana leapt down her throat with soothing sentiment and a sickening rationale that only strengthened her own resolve. If they wanted the mages, they would need to find a new Herald. The Commander seemed to be the only one who gave her his full support, although that wasn’t entirely unsurprising.

 

“Throwing magic at the Breach can only make it worse,” he reasoned, eyes hopeful.

 

“We have no idea if the Templars will even be capable of such a task,” shot back Leliana.

 

“Well, why don’t we find out?” Ella turned her head towards the Ambassador. “Lady Montilyet, how difficult would it be to secure a meeting at Therinfall?” The Antivan woman’s face took on a displeased appearance before she turned to her notes.

  
“It would take considerable effort, but it is certainly possible,” she replied after flipping through the papers. “Well within our limits, I would say.”

 

“How soon could the process begin?” asked Ella, running the tip of her finger along a dagger at her waste as she did so. Honestly this whole business was beginning to wear on her.

 

“Immediately, Lady Herald.” Ella’s nose scrunched up slightly when the Ambassador used the title, but she made no remark on it.

 

“That appears to be settled then!” Ella clapped her hands together, face a beam of false bravado. The Spymaster seemed flustered, or at least put off.

 

“Herald I am urging you to reconsider-“

 

“I’ve heard your complaints and your arguments, Spymaster. You are welcome to seek help from the mages, but make no mistake: I will not be here when they arrive.”

 

The Spymaster actually scowled at her before nodding and stalking off, presumably to pen a death threat or two. Honestly Ella knew very little about what their dear Nightingale actually _did_. That was something that needed to change. She tucked that resolution away for later and faced the rest of the assembled with a polite smile.

 

“Now if you do not mind, it is getting rather late. Or perhaps the right word is early? Either way, I’d prefer to catch a moment of rest before the sun rises.”

 

She didn’t bother to wait for approval, spinning elegantly about and pushing open the door without a sound before disappearing into the dark.

 

The thought of sleep repulsed her, as usual. As she left the Chantry the night air, still and crisp, graced her face with a dainty presence. A scan of Haven revealed that most lights were out and most people were inside, presumably sleeping. Good for them. Not wanting to accidentally run into anyone, and certainly not wanting to explain her insomnia, Ella lowered her hood and darted out of Haven, footprints light upon a fresh layer of snow. When she traversed the short distance that separated Haven from the woods she slowed, drawing out a dagger in case some stray creature became a little too friendly.

 

Walking aimlessly between the trunks cleared her head in a way nothing else could. Once or twice she was struck by the fantastical notion that she could run, right this instant, and there would be nothing they could do. She could be free.

 

 _No, I can’t._ The Breach was irresistible to the eyes, and she allowed herself to be drawn towards it, palm thrumming as she stared. _There’s still work to be done._

 

The _crack_ of wood snapping wouldn’t have disturbed her, but the sharp intake of breath did. In a flash she whirled around, one hand wrapped around a dagger and the other poised to send a knife into whoever was stupid enough to sneak up on her. The Commander’s wide eyes met her own narrowed ones, and she reluctantly straightened, hands still loosely clutching the daggers.

 

“What are you doing out here?” he sputtered, and whether he was so thrown off by her presence or the fact that she nearly stuck a blade in him, she couldn’t say.

 

“I could ask you the same question,” Ella shot back with a sigh. She sheathed the blades. “But I won’t. I didn’t see you. You didn’t see me. Everyone’s happy.”

 

For a blessed moment the Commander nodded, dazed, and turned to go his own way, but something seemed to snap him out of it and he shook his head violently before turning back to her.

 

“No. It’s dangerous out here. I’ll take you back to Haven.”

 

“Commander are you honestly suggesting that I can’t take care of myself?” Ella might have been amused if the prospect didn’t enrage her so.

 

“Alone, anything could happen. No matter how skilled you claim to be, mistakes do occur, and these woods can be unpredictable.”

 

“ _You_ are here alone, and you seem fine.” She was fuming, now. So much for clarity in nature and all of that garbage.

 

“Yes, but I am- that doesn’t- you can’t-“ he sighed, suddenly defeated. Ella noted how tired he seemed, and decided to change tact.

 

“I can’t sleep,” she muttered, the words like knives on her tongue. The Commander looked up.

 

“Neither can I,” he admitted, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. Her mark flared for just a second, nothing painful, but enough to illuminate the immediate surroundings. In the glow Ella could clearly see every line in his face, the way his shoulders seemed to slump, a bit of a tremor in his hands. She was told that he was a former Templar, but she realized that the stench of lyrium didn’t hang over him like tobacco did a smoker. _He couldn’t have…_

 

She didn’t pry. If it was true… _His decision_.

 

Still, she wasn’t completely devoid of sympathy. “Commander,” she began, hesitantly. “You’re right. It _is_ dangerous to just wander out here.”

 

“Walk with me?” he supplied. She nodded, and fell into step when he started forward once more. They didn’t talk, the silence being comfortable, and instead allowed the forest to take them where it would. At some point they came to a gentle incline, the beginnings of a small hill, and they climbed up until they managed to reach the top, at which point the Commander sat. Ella followed suite, hugging her knees to her chest and marveling at the view. The Breach was beautiful, in its own terrifying sort of way.

 

“Soldier?” Cullen broke the silence, his voice barely a murmur but still ringing loud. Ella nodded, forcing a smile to her face.

 

“I would ask you the same, _Commander_ , but seeing as how…”

 

“Ha, yes. The question would be excessive.” Another spell of nothing but the faint hush of the night creatures going about their lives.

 

“How old where you?” he asked, but Ella shook her head. This line of questioning was dangerous.

 

“I grew up fast.” Was her reply, and she hoped that was satisfyingly vague.

 

“And now?”

 

“Commander!” She held a hand to her chest in mock horror. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a lady her age?” He laughed at that.

 

“My apologies, obviously manners have escaped me. That will happen in the dead of night.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you always so evasive?”

 

“What a question!”

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

 

“Is it the dreams?” Damn, there she went again. She felt remotely comfortable with someone and then, _bam_ , she said something immensely stupid. This was getting ridiculous. To his credit, Cullen didn’t wince. He simply leveled her with a long, indecipherable gaze then nodded, slowly.

 

“You?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“About…?”

 

“I’d rather not.” She hugged herself closer.

 

“That’s alright. I feel the same.” He paused, as if weighing his words. “Do you… ever _regret…_?”

 

“The killing?” He nodded, and she worried at her lower lip. “Regret, yes. But I don’t think I’d do it differently, given the chance.”

 

“How many have you-“

 

“No.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.” She didn’t want his pity, and she didn’t need it. He nodded.

 

“So… Ella?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ella what?”

 

“Just Ella.”

 

“How long has it been since you slept?” The question took her off guard, and she stared at him for a few heartbeats before regaining her composure.

 

“Well, technically I slept after doing… whatever it was that I did with the Breach.”

 

“That was magically induced; it doesn’t qualify.”

 

“I’d disagree, but if you insist, then the last time I truly slept would have been about a week before the Conclave.” Now it was Cullen’s turn to stare. Stupid, stupid, _stupid._ She backpedaled furiously. “Of course I’ve dozed a bit here and there, managed to catch a bit of-“

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

She sighed. He was predictably straightforward and persistent. “I always am.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

 

“I didn’t. I was told to guard, and so I did. One of the infinite perks of being a slave.”

 

Silence, and an uncomfortable one at that. “There’s no need to be so skittish around the subject,” Ella snapped.

 

“I am not _skittish_.” The Commander sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose again. _Headache_ , Ella observed. “I just… we don’t have that sort of… thing, here.”

 

“Not to be contrary, but clearly you do.”

 

“It is illegal.”

 

“When has a little thing like the law ever stopped anyone.”

 

“Are you speaking from experience?”

 

“Maybe.” Ella bit her lip. He was tired, hurting, couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t help herself, but maybe she could help him. So that was how, sitting on that little hill with the treetops sprawled out beneath them like a frozen sea, she began to talk.

 

It was little things, mostly. How when she was young she used to draw _everywhere_ , little scraps of mission briefings, margins of books, and even on the walls when nothing else could be found. He responded in kind, telling her how he and his siblings would play at soldier, giggling as they tackled each other to the dirt, eyes downcast when their mother demanded to know what had happened to their clothes. She talked of a kitten she had once smuggled into her room, the way she fed it scraps of food and watched it grow with the wide and curious eyes of a child. He grinned, spoke of a scruffy mutt his company had adopted off the streets; they would sneak it food and affection in shifts, and it always returned the favor with a friendly bark and a brisk shake before consenting to a hug or pat.

 

They talked through the night, making sure to skirt anything serious, focusing on the brightest points of childhood or the proudest moments of their careers. Ella didn’t know when she had moved closer to him, but his cloak was warm enough to convince her that she didn’t care. Stupid, dangerous, but she could not shake the feeling that he was so like her caretaker growing up, a father and elder brother. And he had no trouble adopting one more sister. She lapsed, allowing an arm to fall over her as they talked in mumbles and murmurs, clear against the night. And the next morning she couldn’t even recall perhaps the greatest mistake of the night: falling asleep right there, curled up in his warmth.

 

When she awoke it was to the faint dusting of sunlight that pricked at her lashes. Cold panic gripped her as she realized she had actually been _sleeping_ and next to a Templar, the Commander of all things and how could she possibly be such an insufferable _idiot_ -

 

“Ella?”

 

She suppressed a wince, halfway through the process of extracting herself from his arms because of _course_ that was where she had fallen asleep, right next to him, and all because she was experiencing _feelings_ about these people who she couldn’t afford to feel for, not now, not with freedom hovering just out of reach, not when _everyone is dead_ and kaffas kaffas kaffas why was he looking at her like that with concern and why did she care that he seemed almost hurt because she didn’t care couldn’t care _won’t care-_

 

“Yes Commander?” she said with a smile.

 

Too much all at once, too much emotion and freedom even though they still kept her on a leash, _Herald,_ gilded bars to a gaudy cage with a collar spun of gold, still freedom went to her head and she started acting rash and stupid and _sentimental, can’t afford to lose another_ -

 

“Are you okay?”

So much like her not-father, the man who cared for her when no once else would, dead bleeding broken all for her, always for her, _why couldn’t they let me die_ , and now he’s staring right at her with weary eyes that don’t know, _can’t know_ what she’s done and it eats at her stomach like the worst kind of poison and _I’ve never been the praying type_ but inside she screamed for anyone listening to let her _wake up wake up_ and she had fallen asleep right here, the mark in her palm a shining beacon to anything that wandered the Fade and _no no no_ what if _he_ had seen it dear fuck no what if-

“I’m fine,” she replied with a bright grin, bright teeth, bright everything _blind them into believing_.

She let her guard down so spectacularly that it was irreparable, had invented new heights of stupidity and now horror, growing horror as _this is how I feel about them all_ because she _cared_ now and that in itself was terrifying because if she cared then they could hurt her and _why is this happening now why_ -

“Maybe we should head back to Haven,” said the Commander with a grin, wrapping himself tighter in his furred mantle. He laughed, and Ella responded in kind.

Why now, why was it this very second where it overwhelmed her, drowned her, _pulling me under sharp teeth digging into thrashing flesh_ why, when she had finally managed a blessed night of rest in the warmth of another, someone sentient at that, _never satisfied, you will always burn your bridges little sparrow_ and now, now through snow that burned her skin in a way she didn’t notice because everything burned now, _burning screaming fighting against flames-_

What if he saw, what if he found her, what if he was still alive and waiting somewhere in the darkest depths of the Fade for her to slip into a too-real dream, what if _red hot claws of steel against flesh_ and _throat raw from screaming wrists bloodied and bruised against cruel chains_ what if he found the _collar_ and-

A hand caught her wrist. She smiled up at The Iron Bull, who looked down at her, concerned.

 _Concerned_ about her because she was a burden, a lifeless piece of flesh that happened to hold the key to salvation, because she was a prize _a toy my pet, that’s all you are, all you’ll ever be_ -

The Commander seemed confused, but relenting. “Good day, Herald.”

The collar is dead, _the collar is dead_ but what if he came back and whispered it to life _sharp thorns against limbs pushing twisting flesh into a lifeless marionette_ she hadn’t dreamed, not even the slightest glimmer of the Fade, what if he had found her _what if he had_ -

“Good day, Commander,” she said with the slightest wave, smiling all the while.

A smile is a mask a smile is a mask hold it tight hold it tight hold it tight-

“Boss.”

_A hand on her wrist and a blade at her throat-_

“ _Boss.”_

 _Dance for me_ -

“ ** _Ella._ ”**

“Yes?” She glanced up once more with too-clear eyes and a face pulled tight against itself. The mask was slipping.

 _The mask is slipping_ how was she so incompetent that she could not even-

“You need to stop, right now.”

Porcelain shattering across her face _not now not now_ -

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, you need to not be thinking it. Can you hear me?”

 _Are you deaf,_ cold hands on hers, _they weren’t slimy then but they felt it afterwards_ -

“Ella. Ground yourself.”

_What if he found me-_

**Pain sharp and real across her face.**

Ella reeled, a hand to her nose, blood on her fingers. Her eyes wildly sought out the source of the blow, found the qunari. Growling, snarling, teeth bared and sharp.

“Alright. This is what you need? You need a fight?”

 _Rage_ boiling up inside of her, unrelenting in its ferocity as her anger redirected. She crouched, almost on all fours as she laid a steadying hand against the ground. Spitting and snapping target in front of her, the lumbering giant who dared to strike her. Foolish, an outrage, _he will pay they will all pay_ and she lunged.

 

 

 

 

An agent found him, panicked under the calm he was currently training to perfect, and handed him a missive. The Iron Bull had been putting the Chargers through their paces, an early morning routine that tended to leave them sweaty and breathless. It wasn’t something they had a chance to do often, as they usually needed to be battle ready, and so he seized the opportunity when it came by to the great despair of his men.

 

A glance at the paper revealed why the agent seemed so twitchy. The Herald missing for the night, and they start readying the search parties. He sighed. They really did keep her on a tight leash, didn’t they? Fortunately for Red’s nerves he had an answer to this little conundrum, and he didn’t even need all of his Ben Hassrath training to puzzle it out: Bull had seen the Herald wander off into the woods the other night, followed by Cullen soon after. Either this was some sort of test, or their friendly neighborhood Spymaster was stretched thinner than he had thought. Maybe both. With an easy grin he handed the paper back to the agent.

 

“Don’t worry kid. Saw her head into the tavern last night. She’s probably still there. I’ll go get her.”

 

The agent seemed relieved and was quick to scamper off. It was probably best that Red didn’t know how often their prized Herald wandered off alone into the woods. And it was also best that the Herald didn’t know that he knew that. It seemed that this time she had stayed the night, and with the Commander no less. He wasn’t sure how to sort the emotions he felt at that. The kid obviously needed _someone_ , and she seemed skittish around himself. The horns had a way of doing that, he admitted as he made his way down to the woods that edged Haven. She would have left a trail; the Herald was not an idiot. It wouldn’t do for her to get mauled by wolves because no one could find her.

 

There it was, a few branches brushed aside. He began picking out the path, allowing his mind to wander.

 

Of course he might have been attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? The way she simply cut through enemies was undeniably impressive, but she also possessed a figure that she used to full advantage. Very aware of her body. Of her face. Immaculate control of her emotions. _Where did she come from_?

 

It seemed that he hadn’t needed to follow the trail at all, as the Commander himself walked down the way he had come, trailed by the Herald. Cullen seemed surprised but not embarrassed, which was a little unusual. The Iron Bull would have thought him to be sheepish when caught-

 

Oh. He could have cursed himself for being so slow. There had been nothing. They had just chanced upon each other in the woods because _they both couldn’t sleep._ Bull of all people should have seen that right away. _Why did I immediately jump to-?_

 

He didn’t dwell on it, couldn’t dwell when he saw the look on the Herald’s face. At first glance she seemed fine, restful, happy, even. Something drew his gaze back, however, something off-putting in her eyes, something that looked suspiciously and heart-wrenchingly familiar. He placed a hand on her wrist instinctively, hoping to hold her until he could figure out exactly what was wrong.

 

“Hey Cullen,” said Bull casually, leaning on a tree in an attempt to lessen the size difference and intimidation alike. The man looked rested and yet dogged by a lingering weariness that one night of sleep would not mend.

 

“Iron Bull! I didn’t expect to see you here-“

 

“Could I talk to the Herald for a moment? News from Red.”

 

“I’m sure that anything from Leliana could be said in front of me.“ The Commander crossed his arms, indignant. With his hair ruffled from wind and sleep, he struck a rather comical figure. Bull allowed himself a smile.

 

“It’s not really Inquisition news. She might not want you to hear it. Her call.”

 

“Oh.” Cullen paled slightly, casting a nervous glance towards the Herald. These people, they seemed to forget so easily, separated her from her past in a way that seemed unhealthy. “Well, I suppose I should take my leave. Good day, Herald.”

 

“Good day, Commander.” The lilt in her voice, the way her eyes wouldn’t exactly focus. Cullen walked away none the wiser, unaware that his life could have very well been in danger. The Iron Bull didn’t doubt for a single heartbeat that the Herald had a violent background, and people like that could turn dangerous in this state.

 

“Boss?” He tried gentle, a soft voice. Nothing. If anything she seemed to be worsening. Strangling a growl, he tried again, firmer this time.

 

“ _Boss._ ” Still nothing. A twitch in her mouth, maybe, but she wasn’t looking at him.

 

“ ** _Ella._ ”**

  
“Yes?” She looked at him then, unfocused and a little pale, a smile stretched tightly across her lips, firmly locked into place. He knew that look. Screaming on the inside.

 

“You need to stop, right now.”

 

Nothing, nothing at all. Grimacing, he knelt down and grabbed a lump of snow, rising up again and grasping her hands.

 

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, you need to not be thinking it. Can you hear me?” Her eyes were blank, face going slack. He squeezed her hands tighter, digging the ice into her palm. “Ella. Ground yourself.”

 

He was losing her, he could see it. Bull dropped her hands and, in a fit of desperation, clenched his fist and punched her square in the face.

 

Blood splattered from her nose as she stumbled backwards, eyes locking onto him with a new and refreshing intensity. That was an improvement. Probably. She was looking at him with an unrestrained rage that was extremely unnerving. At least they weren’t too close to Haven. This could get ugly.

 

“Alright. Is this what you need? You need a fight?”

 

There was a vicious snarl and he almost whirled around to find its source before he realized that it came from _her_. Gritting his teeth, The Iron Bull readied himself for a fight. He couldn’t hurt her, at least not too permanently, but clearly she needed to blow this off somehow. This would be something real to focus on.

 

Crouched down like some sort of wildcat, muscles bunching up in her legs, her shoulders, and Bull steeled himself for her attack. When she pounced, he was ready, catching her and following her momentum to slam her into the ground behind him. She scrambled up with an uncanny speed, something he really should have expected having seen her fight so many times but damn it all if he wasn’t unprepared for this sort of encounter.

 

Wild eyes and bared teeth, but at least she didn’t seem so lost anymore.

 

_Asala-taar._

 

He hadn't seen it this bad since Seheron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems unrealistic to anyone, please let me know. I've read that certain sensory stimuli are supposed to help people cope with PTSD triggers and tried to incorporate that.
> 
> Also, if it wasn't painfully clear, Ella's relationship with Cullen is 100% platonic. I think I might have over-clarified that, but I know sometimes people can get confused. A lot of media doesn't really portray platonic relationships between a guy and a girl, and so I think that makes it more difficult to write it convincingly because there's this expectation.
> 
> If Ella's sudden breakdown seems unexpected, that's because it is.


	11. Asaaranda

Boiling hot rage clawing against the cage that was her flesh; anger for the insult, anger for the fallen, anger for her _freedom_ and her lack thereof.

 

She snarled and growled and tore at the qunari, not quite remembering why she had begun but clinging to the fight nonetheless. They appeared to be evenly matched, the qunari being hard pressed to keep her at bay and Ella herself struggling to land her blows. Her nails managed to drag scarlet furrows at his side before he flung her off again, the blood sticky on her fingertips in a way that was discordantly familiar. Her head spun when she collided with the tree, eyes narrowed as she tried to shake the fog from her head. _What am I doing?_ Eyes clear for a heartbeat, mouth dry before _I’m fighting. **Keep fighting**_. Lips pulled back into a feral snarl Ella pushed off from the scraggled bark with a wild vengeance, driving herself into the qunari with every ounce of strength she had. He staggered back a step with a soft grunt before catching her, pinning her against his body as she struggled against his grip. _Can’t end here, fight, fight, **fight**_ **.** She sunk her teeth into his arm, ripping away as he dropped her.

 

The salty tang of blood on her tongue, _different but the same_. Warm, a fire in it that she had never before encountered. _Different._ Her eyes rose slowly to meet the singular gaze of The Iron Bull. Heartbeat fluttering, hands twitching, mouth dry but _wet with blood_ his _blood why_ -

 

Ella didn’t remember falling, sinking to her knees in the biting snow, staring at her hands the crimson crusted underneath her nails that would never come out _it never comes out, please I scrub them raw but it never-_

 

“Ella.”

 

_That’s me._ Her eyes snapped up once more, winced when they saw him, the scratches and bruises that _she_ had put there. Muscles bunched beneath her skin as he neared, ready for the blow that was sure to come and she forced them to relax because tensing never helped _just makes it worse-_

 

“I’m going to come closer now. Is that alright?”

 

She was silent, confused, staring up at him with too-wide eyes and a face she couldn’t seem to manage anymore. He took a step back, palms up and outward.

 

“I don’t have to. I can leave.”

 

“ _No_.” It was a plea, hoarse and desperate and ripped from her throat by emotion that she didn’t know she still possessed. _Don’t leave me here, please, not like this don’t-_

 

“Ella.” Every time he said that name she felt as if a shackle was loosened. _Ella. That’s me_. He crouched, bringing himself low, making himself as small as could be. Still he loomed. Couldn’t help it. “Ella, may I touch you?”

 

Her head jerked into a nod. Here he was, asking for permission to _touch_ her of all things when she had just torn him into little ribbons-

 

“I know what you’re thinking, and this-“ he motioned towards the red and black and purplish-green that littered his body. “This isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

 

_No._ It was her fault. All of it was her fault. And yet he was helping her, being _kind_ to her in a way that was unusual, unnerving, why, why-

 

“ _Why_?” she managed over the torrent of words that strangled her throat in their effort to be heard. A hand brushed her cheek and she leaned into the touch, desperate for the reminder that _I’m real I’m here this isn’t a dream he didn’t find me-_

 

“If I find out, you’ll be the first to know, asaaranda.”

 

“ _Asaaranda_.” The word was thick on her tongue and twisted at her mind, a memory of a memory kept locked away where it couldn’t hurt her. “Thunderstorm.” She was too far gone to either mind her words or to see the flash of surprise across his face.

 

“Yeah. Thunderstorm. That’s you.” The hands moved, gently wrapping around her and pulling her towards him, up and up and up until he stood, her limp in his arms. Warm, safe, _I wish I could stay here forever_ -

 

The blood under her nails. The salt on her tongue. She struggled out of his grasp, staggered when she hit the ground. Eyes wild and desperate and confused and Bull seemed resigned to another session of ‘beat on the qunari’ and _why-_

“I hurt you.” The words started slow, a trickle that belied the stream before the gushing tide. “I lost myself and then I hurt you because I’m such a fucking _idiot_ I can’t afford to feel like this but I do and I _hurt_ you because I have no self control and _this stupid collar_ and it’s happening again _it’s happening again_ because I let myself get too attached, too involved, too _sentimental_ and then I forgot what I was and I hurt you because I was clumsy and foolish and _this_ _always happens_ and-“

 

She let out a strangled squeak of surprise as he swept her up into his arms again.

 

“We are going to get cleaned up.”

 

“No you don’t- you can’t- I _hurt_ you-“

 

“And I hurt you. I’m sure we’ve both done a lot worse to a lot of other people. We all make mistakes.”

 

“ _I can’t afford to make mistakes_.” Hysterical, near sobbing, _no tears can’t let them see the weakness-_

 

“Ella...”

 

“What if I had pulled a dagger on you? What if I had-“

 

“You wouldn’t have killed me.”

  
“How can you be so sure?”

 

Bull stopped, abruptly and she jolted forward in his arms. He breathed deeply and she could feel the crisp mountain air swelling against his chest.

 

“You said you felt like you were too attached.” Ella winced, cursing herself as her thoughts began to fall into place once more. He continued, seemingly ignoring her movement. “You’ve lost others, then? And it hurt you. Maybe you think that if it happened again it would break you, but it doesn’t have to be like-“

 

“It _did_ break me.” She hadn’t meant to say it. She hadn’t meant to say any of this. Kaffas, if only she had just stayed in that shitty little house and spent another sleepless night tossing and turning by the fire like a _normal_ person and-

 

“And yet here you are. You look pretty sound to me.”

 

“I tried to rip your face off. I _bit_ you for fuck’s sake-“

 

“I’ll live. You’ll live. You’re sorry for biting a chunk of my arm off, I’m sorry for not noticing this sooner.”

 

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for-“

 

“And neither do you.” He fixed her with the full intensity of his eye, sharp and quick. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ella.”

 

She almost started to believe him. Allowed him to ferry her off to wherever it was he intended to actually go, until the reality of it all came crashing down once again.

 

_Splayed limbs torn flesh blood everywhere my fault my fault-_

_“No_ ,” she hissed through a snarl barely on the safe side of feral. When he refused to release her again, Ella reached up to grab a horn, bringing him down and closer to her level. “Listen to me. Right now. I have _everything_ to be sorry for. I am a horrible person who has done horrible things just so I could live a little longer in this horrible world, alright?” She felt him stiffen against her; perhaps the only benefit of being so encompassed by his arms.

 

“I’m still trying to figure you out, boss.” He spoke slowly, easing out the words in careful measure. “And I think that’s part of the problem. You hold yourself so close that even _I_ have trouble reading you. This, right here, took maybe five minutes? And I just found out more about you than anything I could have scraped up in the last week. You hold everything inside and squeeze it tight as if that’ll make it stop. It won’t.”

 

_I don’t want it to stop. I deserve it. I deserve this._

 

She bit a lip, her recovered restraint sticking the words in her throat and saving her from yet another fatal error. A deep breath unclenched her muscles. Another smoothed her face.

 

“This. This is exactly what I’m talking about.” The Iron Bull sounded frustrated. Ella glanced up at him, wearing a cold akin to the brisk air of the Frostbacks that tore at their skin.

 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are insinuating.” At last she managed to wrench herself from his grasp –or maybe he let her fall. Brushing what dirt and mud she could from her clothes briskly, Ella straightened, chin high as she gently wrapped herself in the mask she had crafted for her new position as Herald. Strong, distant and yet kind, at peace with the world and her place in it.

  
“That’s fine, boss.” His tone suggested the opposite, and she flashed him an easy smile. “Just remember that I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

 

“We were attacked by wolves,” Ella said simply with a sweeping gesture that took in both of their states. She conveniently did not hear what he said last.

 

“Yeah, sure,” The Iron Bull sighed, defeated. “We were attacked by wolves.”

 

“Cassandra is going to murder us.”

 

“People are gonna think-“

 

“We were attacked by wolves.”

 

“Sure. That’s- sure.” The Iron Bull ground his teeth and growled ever so slightly for a heartbeat before he stilled himself. “I’m heading back to Haven. You should too.”

 

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

“You should come back _now_.”

 

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

“I will pick you up an carry you.”

 

“I’ll bite you again.” She shot him a wink, allowed her smile to tremble slightly before drawing it back up. “I just… I need a moment.”

 

He nodded, not bothering to mask his displeasure but relenting to her request. The Iron Bull disappeared into the woods with a disquieting speed for someone of his size. Ella stumbled back into a tree, digging the heel of her palms into her forehead. This entire ordeal had been a complete and utter disaster. The Iron Bull now knew more about her than she would ever want _anyone_ to know, which moved him towards the top of her threat list. At this point he hovered just below the Spymaster, and that was only because Ella was relatively sure that she could manipulate the others into casting him out. The Nightingale was far too skilled and in too advantageous of a position to allow that to happen to herself.

 

Clearly she needed to reevaluate her situation. The mark in her palm shuddered unhelpfully, flaring up as Ella shook it out at her side, irritated. She was too close to these people. It left her vulnerable. After so long, she had latched onto the first people who had treated her with the bare minimum of humanity. It might have been humorous, if it didn’t leave her feeling so bare. Falling asleep, this close to the Breach? Definitely not the wisest. She took a steadying breath, refusing to fall into the spiral of _whatever-the-fuck-that-was_ that had led her to such a ill-timed breakdown. She tucked it in a box and buried that box deep. No time to dwell, there were Templars to recruit. She wore the mask of a smile and made her easy way back to Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I like enough things about it that I don't want to just rewrite it. Some more insight into Ella's past, but not enough to really be satisfying. Will Bull just leave it at that? We all know he won't.
> 
> Oh boy, it's time for Templars. Gotta study up on that, I suppose.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Feel free to post a comment about anything at all!


	12. Envy

It wasn’t easy to avoid the venomous glares that Solas shot her way, but Ella managed. Leliana posed a similar challenge, although the Spymaster seemed complacent enough after realizing that Ella would not budge on this issue. If it was a choice between Templars and mages, they were certainly going to recruit the Templars. _No demons here, thanks._

 

The road to Therinfal was arduous, not due to any dangers or lack of upkeep, although surely those problems could not be discounted, but because the sheer volume of nobles accompanying them meant that Ella was required to juggle dispositions constantly. This man was a little older; flit, flirt, flatter. This woman was perhaps well read; quick and quiet, keen and soft. The posturing left her exhausted, but Ella found it necessary. If they wished to keep the Inquisition standing long enough to seal the Breach, they would need noble support. And besides, it wasn’t as if any of them would actually remember her face. The mark, that was key. A few well-timed flashes, a grimace of pain, the subtle manipulation of her fingers to cast the green haze off the metallic surface of her daggers, proudly on display at her waist. A warrior, and yet gentle. A natural leader, but so humble. It was stifling.

 

Even worse was the grating awareness of the Iron Bull’s intent observation. He hadn’t said a word about her… breakdown, but Ella was a fool if she didn’t think he had picked apart everything she had said that day a thousand times already. She was leaving herself exposed, playing so many like this, and he was certainly reading more than she would have liked. _It doesn’t matter._ The thought was firm but barely comforting. _I’ll be out of here before it counts._ The Breach was the priority, and the qunari could just stuff it. After the stupid hole in the sky was closed he wouldn’t even be able to _find_ her, much less actually use any information he had managed to glean.

 

“-managed to find an entire _field_ of royal elfroot! A wonderful addition to my garden.”

 

“Fascinating.” Ella heard herself say, making sure that the proper amount of interest was present in her tone. Her eyes darted towards Therinfal, now only a few hundred feet away. A rather unfriendly work of architecture. “And what of the crystal grace?”

 

“Why my dear Herald, we must preserve some professional secrets, no?” The man gave her a broad smile accompanied by an exaggerated wink. Ella laughed, responding in Orlesian.

 

 _“A wise attitude, my lord.”_ The man’s eyes lit up, and there was the hint of genuine emotion in the crinkles of his face. Ella always _had_ liked the Orlesian language, the way it danced across the tongue, it’s beauty and grace –the fact that most native speakers believed that no one else could master it. Wielded wisely, it was an effective tool for securing alliance and friendship.

 

After exchanging a few more careful pleasantries, Ella extracted herself with a careful excuse and wound her way through the crowd of nobles and Inquisition agents alike who were awaiting a sign or message from the Lord Seeker and his Templars indicating that he had even noticed them. Tension was thick in the air and anxiety haunted the steps of many, although Ella was sure that these nobles would refuse to admit such a thing. No, not they. Proud players of the Game. They could never feel fear or something so trivial as nerves. Ella knew better. _It’s fine to feel the fear, but don’t let it slip. Don’t let it command you. Secure it within a lockbox and fasten your mask tightly._

 

The thought was intrusive. The phantom of a memory, fingertips ghosting across pale skin, words on unmoving lips. Ella turned, tried to make it subtle. There had been a brush across her mind, she _knew_ it, and it felt all too familiar. A swift sweep across the sea of masks revealed nothing to her. Cursing her own paranoia, Ella allowed herself to fiddle mindlessly with her collar, still tucked away under the tattered old scarf. _If he were here, I would know_.

 

She forced herself to smile pleasantly when the Seeker approached, allowed herself the affectation of disappointment and perhaps the slightest tinge of surprise when she said that no one seemed to be responding to their little gathering. The matter was troubling: they could not simply pack up and go home, not when they had dragged all of these nobles with them.

 

“Perhaps we should try a more direct approach,” Ella murmured, turning towards the stronghold. Her eyes darted back and found a worried looking Cassandra.

 

“I do not like that look,” grumbled the Seeker, crossing her arms. “That’s the look you had before you climbed a pride demon.”

 

“One time. It was _one time_.” Ella sighed. “I was just thinking that if we made some sort of _display_ -“

 

“That word concerns me.”

 

“-of the mark’s magic-“

 

“This gets worse by the second.”

 

“-then we might get their attention,” finished Ella resolutely. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the large gray form of the Iron Bull hovering. “Eavesdropping isn’t considered polite amongst the higher-bred, the Iron Bull.”

 

“I’m not eavesdropping,” he grunted, taking a step closer and into view. “I was just listening.”

 

“It’s the same- forget it.” Ella started when she caught movement at the doors of the fortress. It appeared that they wouldn’t need a show after all, which was a small blessing considering how much she wished to evade the limelight.

 

“It appears that the Lord Seeker has finally deigned us worthy to bask in his presence,” said Ella, provoking a chuckle from Bull and a dark grumble from Cassandra.

 

Knight-Templar Barris seemed capable enough, and thought internally Ella bristled at the antagonism presented by Lord Abernache she preserved a placid front and made sure to observe the state of things as they entered the yard. It was odd; most of the Templars out and about were of younger. In fact Ella could find no one of senior rank monitoring the yard or its occupants, something that she found out of character with a military operation turned to a religious purpose. Both an army and a Chantry demanded a strict hierarchy. She filed this away for later, and simply resolved to be more aware of potential threats. One of which appeared almost immediately in the form of some strange flag ceremony.

 

Ella eyed the pennants with some combination of nervousness and irritation. There was no correct answer, and acquiescing to the ceremony would only place her under further scrutiny. It was a waste of time, a chance for the Lord Seeker to gather his wits. Ella needed him as witless as possible in these negotiations. There were no high ranking officers in the yard. _Must still be inside._ With the Lord Seeker. He couldn’t be planning some sort of ambush, could he?

 

_Not again, not again. The wheel turns but it is still the same, different but the same. Still knives in bloodied backs and desperate beasts clawing at their own trapped skin._

 

There it was again. Suppressing a shudder and the urge to spin about wildly Ella fixed Barris with a hard stare and spoke with the intensity and loft of a nobleborn.

 

“This is a waste of time. There’s a hole in the sky, and it’s not going to close itself while I shuffle flags around. I demand to speak with the Lord Seeker immediately.” The Templar soured at that, but he did not argue.

 

“Very well. Follow me please.”

 

Barris seemed a decent sort, Ella decided after trailing him some ways through the castle. A good man stranded amidst bad orders. She could relate. There was a whisper at her mind again, but Ella forced it out before it could be heard. Something was very amiss here.

 

The Knight Captain who spoke to them was off. Ella could tell that with unwavering certainty. How and why, that was more difficult. Discreetly she unsheathed her daggers. The way he spoke, it sounded almost… culty. Ella’s face twisted. Cults and demons and magic.

 

Her blades intercepted his own before he could land a single blow, and a flick of her wrist left him weaponless, sword across the room. A swift knee to the stomach followed by a hook to his face left him sprawled on the ground, unconscious. His fellows weren’t so lucky.

 

 _They won’t die._ This wasn’t entirely accurate. Ella sunk her dagger into the throat of an unlucky Templar. Or at least what used to be a Templar. _They won’t stop fighting until they’re dead._ Usually she could count on pain and exhaustion, factor it into her fighting. These… things, with red crystal sprouting from their flesh, they did not feel pain. They did not get tired. As she brought down another, a soft and intoxicating melody nudged at her ears. _Red lyrium_. What was it doing here?

 

Their race through the fortress was a constant red-soaked nightmare. The scarlet on her blades, the crimson on her face, the dazzling red that radiated from the corrupted Templars. Distantly she heard others try to reason with their former comrades. Also too familiar for her liking. _Bury the box._ She kept stabbing.

 

When they finally reached the Lord Seeker, Ella could feel the threads of her mind beginning to fray. _Still screaming, how are they still screami- blood everywhere, it won’t come out I rub them raw but it wo- how could you do this to me I was always loyal plea- just let me die let me d-_

 

“Should you open the negotiations, or should I?” Her own confidence was so foreign, so obviously a façade. Someone sniggered. Could they not see her for the front that she was? _Stay strong_. The Lord Seeker did not laugh, only stared at her in that offsetting manner that had concerned her in Val Royeaux. Too familiar _it’s all too familiar_.

 

Fast, faster than she believed a man could move he had her, shoved her against the wall like a ragdoll and he was _strong_ dammit and-

 

The Fade. _This is the Fade_. Her immediate reaction was panic. Her secondary reaction was more panic. Third… there was just a lot of panic all around.

 

When she finally managed to calm herself, to take _deep breaths_ and _tuck it in a box and_ -

 

This is not the Fade. _This is my mind_. Any scrap of tranquility she had dredged up shattered with a resounding force that nearly brought her stumbling to her knees. A Fade-touched green haunted the edge of her vision, but she was here and she could feel and _this is my mind_ -

 

“So much fear… is that who you are?”

 

Something snapped, a box spilled open. Ella glared about wildly, lips pulled back in a feral snarl. She would not say yes. _I will not say yes_.

 

“Anger, primal, _savage_ … are you a beast inside your own mind? An animal trapped in the body of a human? Playing pretend, a trained bear-“

 

“You have no power over me, demon.”

 

“ _You have no power over me..._.” It mimicked her in a strangled twisted mockery of her own voice. The green-touched mists about her began to roil, to twist into new shapes and forms.

 

“Who will let me know you?”

 

“No one will.” Ella forced the desperation from her voice. _This is a demon_. She had endured worse, worse than anyone could possibly imagine. She had not said yes then, and she refused to cave now. Not when so many lives rested squarely upon her shoulders. Well, her hand. “I am the only one who truly knows me.”

 

“I will know you better.” A hiss, bitter and cruel before melting into a memory of what might have been kindness. “I will know you, and then you won’t be alone. I will make you stronger.”

 

“Nice try, but I don’t make deals. Just a personal preference; maybe ask someone else?”

 

 _“I don’t make deals… maybe ask someone else?”_ Ella winced as it hissed out a mockery of her own voice once more. Out of the fog stepped the Spymaster, sharp eyes glazed over in a way that suggested a lifeless doll. Its voice took on that of Leliana, a mockery of its tone. “Will this shape let me know you?”

 

Ella remained silent, wondering if it indeed couldn’t touch her. If she was safe.

 

“You are a _traitor_ ,” growled not-Leliana, and Ella started up, teeth bared instinctively. “We should have locked you up when we had the chance.” Her hand reached out and Ella felt cold metal slinking up her legs, coiling about her arms. _Chains._

 

“ _No_ ,” she whispered, struggling to free herself. The metal melted away, and when Ella looked up again it was Cullen who spoke to her, sword unsheathed and at the ready, pure wrath across his face.

 

“You are a _monster_ ,” not-Cullen hissed, bringing up his sword. “A murderer. I can’t believe I might have called you friend. You deserve worse than death.” He raised the sword. “But death is what I’ll give you.”

 

 _“Please.”_ Ella herself was unsure what she was asking for. She flinched from the cold steel streaking through the air-

 

A rough hand at her chin, tugging her upwards to the cold face of Josephine. A bruise blossomed at the diplomat’s cheek, blood seeped into the gold of her dress.

 

“You are a _slave_.” Ella bristled, recoiled, stumbled away and found that her back hit steel bars. A cage, all around her. Not-Josephine stepped forward, the mockery of a kind smile at her lips. “I’m sorry Lady Herald, but sympathetic contacts in Tevinter are too valuable to ignore. We will miss you, I hope that they treat you well.”

 

“They won’t.” Ella’s voice turned hoarse and desperate, hands scrabbling themselves bloody against the bars. “Josephi- Ambassador please they _won’t_ you don’t understand you can’t please-“

 

 _“Afraid that they will betray you?”_ hissed the demon now, in a voice like her own. Josephine gasped, staggered, died. The cage melted away. “ _Afraid that they will know you?”_

 

“What the _fuck_ boss?” A rough hand slammed her against a wall that hadn’t been there before. Ella looked up to find Bull, seething and snarling. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have killed us. _You did kill us_.”

 

His hand fell away. Ella wrenched her fingers from him, found herself clutching a bloody dagger. Not-Bull slumped to the floor in a pool of scarlet. “I wouldn’t do that,” she whispered.

 

 _“I wouldn’t do that_ ,” mocked the voice, growing ever more similar. Ella cursed, colorfully and violently, kicking and scratching at any solid object.

 

“I wouldn’t do that!” she growled, snarled, roared. The scene fell away with a wicked laugh.

 

“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker.”

 

Ella felt a hand on her shoulder and struck wildly, spinning about in panic. This thing was trying to _be_ her?

 

“Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You’ll see. When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend. Then I will _be_ you.”

 

 _No_. She could not, _would not_ let that happen. _Not here, not like this_. She summoned the greater part of her will in a desperate bid to stabilize her sanity, shielding herself behind a cold wall of roiling anger coupled with an aloof certainty.

 

“I’m going to give you a chance to run now,” Ella growled between gritted teeth. “One chance to leave my _fucking_ brain alone and run back to the Fade before I tear your sorry ass to shreds.”

 

It laughed again, a sound that crept through her veins like a slow poison. “So much anger. So much fear. You think you can defeat me? I know what keeps you awake at night, little sparrow.”

 

Ella choked on her own rage, a feral noise rumbling deep in her throat. “Do _not_ call me that,” she finally managed to ground out. The demon just ignored her, still laughing.

 

“Glory is coming. And the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else: by dying in the right way.”

 

“Sounds like a nice guy. Great with kids, steady job; the works.” She managed to distance herself, to encase her fragile psyche with an equally fragile fortress of witticism. A facade of stability.

 

“Do not toy with me.” A roar, and the Commander was before her. “I am Envy and I will know you,” the demon hissed through Cullen’s teeth and Ella took a step backwards before she could gather herself. Not-Cullen brought himself closer, a blade in hand and a green-tinged glare to his eyes. “What you feel, what you think, _what you see_.” The voice trailed into a mockery of Ella’s, something that she was beginning to think was what they called in the professional business a Very Bad Thing.

 

 _Ah, the classic “No Place To Go But Forward” bit._ Thought Ella a bit distantly as the scene coalesced into something physical. It appeared to be a facsimile of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, complete with scorched corpses. Ella scoffed, taking measured steps towards the clear exit. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, demon,” she muttered.

 

The next vignette was also familiar: her, chained and bound beneath the Chantry with a furious Cassandra in her face. _Missing the mark yet again_. Ella forced herself to smirk, ripping and tearing her own body into something that vaguely resembled confidence.

 

The third room was… different. Her, in command of the Inquisition. _What a thought_. Conquest and nigh mad power-grabbing.

 

“This is not me.” She could say with utmost certainty. “You think that they would put me in charge? Are you kidding? So far I’m finding your little scare tactics lacking, demon.”

 

“No trust in yourself? Hiding behind a crumbling front of strength? Of confidence? You would not place yourself in power. Is that who you are?” Envy hissed from all sides, its voice reverberating off the eerie green mists of the not-Fade.

 

The figures dissolved, but the room did not. Instead it shifted, bringing forth… Ella lost even a semblance of control. Her hands went slack, a faint impact told her she had fallen to her knees. _Chains and knives and hooks and-_

 

“ _Malice_ …” crooned the demon. “Will he let me know you?”

 

_No please no stop-_

 

“Hello there my pet.”

 

_Screaming, screaming, how are they still screaming-_

A hand at her chin, tilting her face up, up, up into the spiteful eyes of-

 

_Fighting scrabbling against bloodied cobblestones chains ripping into flesh-_

“Did you miss me, little sparrow?”

 

 _“No,”_ Ella whispered, a weak refusal. Not-Malice laughed with her voice.

 

“Malice was sloppy, lacking finesse. He knew you and he used you but he didn’t care to go further. I will do better. I will _be_ you. You will die at the hands of the Elder One and my Inquisition will be _glorious_.”

 

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty.” A voice tingled the back of her mind, tugging her away from despondence. Ella rose, stumbled backwards, fleeing the creature that haunted her dreams. “What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

 

 _They throw it away_. Ella gasped for air, the breaths painful against her chest. _They melt it down for scrap. That’s what they will do to me._

 

“No they won’t.”

 

“What are you?” Envy snarled, its voice beating against her skull. “Get out! This is my place!”

 

Ella managed to crawl away, _far away_ from Malice and his eyes and his hands that always seemed to reek of gore, finding herself in a room that was suspiciously like her own back at Haven, although twisted slightly in a way that was unsettling, like when all of one’s furniture is moved a tad to the left. She backed out, fearful of Envy’s next move. _It could find Malice. What else has it found?_

 

“Wait,” called voice, soft and plaintive. Ella turned, almost against her will, dreading whatever specter this demon would force upon her next. She entered the room once more, and the voice appeared again, behind her.

 

“Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help.”

 

Ella stared at the boy and his oversized hat, feeling exceedingly overwhelmed.

 

“You, not Envy,” he added, as if that just cleared everything right up.

 

His voice was familiar, and Ella found that she was actually able to place it. The words that had brushed her mind all throughout Therinfal.

 

“Who are you,” she demanded. “And why were you… _talking_ to me. Before. I my mind.” _Kaffas_ , this was growing closer to a Tethras novel by the second.

 

“I’ve been watching. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Or I am. You’re always inside you.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Ella muttered. Cole frowned under the brim of his hat.

 

“Scrabbling at walls you placed there, beating yourself bloody against your own fear. Guilt against the gore, the flame against the tip of a finger.” His frowned deepened.

 

“It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.”

 

“You’re a spirit,” muttered Ella, mostly to herself. She buried her hands in her face, digging her nails into the flesh. “Who did I piss off upstairs to deserve this bullshit?”

 

“Envy hurt you, is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It’s –it’s not usually like this.”

 

“I really wish my own head could make sense. Just once.” To her surprise, the boy laughed.

 

“It never works like that.”

 

“Truer words have never been spoken.” Ella sighed, running a hand up and through a tangled mess of hair. “Alright. Cole, you said? You’re gonna help me send this fucker packing?” Cole nodded, a lilt to his voice as he explained.

 

“All of this is Envy: people, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy breaks down. You break out.”

 

“So you’re saying I need to let it fuck with me even _more_?”

 

Cole nodded, his head tilting oddly. Something in Ella snapped, bent, twisted and crumbled in a way that left her feeling quite like a door left hanging on its hinges. Her hands dropped, and she let loose a strangled laugh.

 

“ _Fuck_. Well, let’s get to it then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love some comments, about anything you'd like to say. This is a little unedited, so I might go back in and fix some things.
> 
> I didn't expect writing Cole to be such a challenge, but apparently you should not write for spirit boi at 1 in the morning. Most of this is from in-game, unfortunately, but I'll try to tackle some more original dialogue later on.


	13. Sharpened Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, this was difficult to write. I wasn't sure what direction I wanted to go, and eventually settled with this. Hope you enjoy!

The nightmare scape Envy had made of her mind was not something Ella was particularly excited to explore. She forced her trembling limbs to still before peeking out of the room, Cole close behind. A blast of heat forced her back, stumbling over divots in the ground that she could have sworn had not been there before. _Fire._ It was playing on her fears, drawing out her emotion. _Burning, shriveling flesh to blackened twisted flakes._ Cole placed his hand on her shoulder, somehow grounding her.

 

“Envy twists at thoughts, tugs at fears. ‘I will know you’. This is your place, your thoughts. Ideas are loud here. Think of the sunlight, the fresh snow at your feet.”

 

“I…” Ella squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering breaths raking her lungs as she forced forward the memories of _freedom_ and how sweet it had been. Running out into the sunlight, letting it spill upon her upturned face like a balm from the heavens. The way the snow burned her skin and reminded her that _this is real_ and-

 

The fire faded, recoiling from her very presence. As she stepped into the room Ella found herself in a snow covered meadow bathed in soft sunlight. A door, oddly out of place in this landscape, stuck out amidst the white. Ella neared it, opened it, as Envy’s voice raked shivers across her spine.

 

“That thing can’t help you. I _will_ see more!”

 

A blinding burst of white light, and the scene shifted to something darker. Ella stood tall, refused to shrink away as the floor beneath her feet blossomed into shivering blades of grass and trees rooted themselves in the crags of the stone-faced wall.

 

“You think you can control yourself? You think you can save them?

 

The grass shuddered and the ground before her began to churn, bloodied bodies cloaked in ragged cloth dragged from the ground. Ella felt bile rise in throat as she saw their throats ripped out, their ribs pried open, their flesh strewn about in crimson ribbons of splattered gore. Her pace stuttered, stalled, stopped altogether, stood with hands clenched at her sides and breath hissing through bared teeth.

 

Envy chuckled, low and mocking. “You will murder them. Let me in, let me _see_ and I will ensure that does not happen.”

 

“It is lying,” murmured Cole from her side, and Ella opened eyes she hadn’t realized were shut tight. “Throat tight like too much water, drowning on blood, bones made bare to uncaring cold. It won’t keep them safe. You will.”

 

“But what if I-“ Ella’s hoarse protest was cut off by the spirit’s firm insistence.

 

“You will. This-“ He gestured towards the bodies. “-is not you.”

 

She bit back the sob, stuck it in her throat alongside the screaming clamor that threatened to climb its way up. _Deep breaths_ and she walked forward. The world shifted again, Envy snarling in what she could only assume was pain or frustration.

 

“I will make the Inquisition great,” Envy roared, and a hollow reproduction of the war room fluttered before Ella’s eyes. “It will crush Thedas under its heel; none shall stand to resist the might of my creation.”

 

A tree root grasped at Ella’s ankle and she stumbled forward into a war-torn forest. Voices drifted on the smoke-drenched wind, frightened and desperate.

 

“What chance do we have if Val Royeaux has fallen? It’s only a matter of time before all of Orlais-“

 

“Don’t talk like that. We’ll make it. We just have to get out of here before they find us.”

 

“What about the rest-“

 

“Forget about them. The Inquisition has already murdered them. Wait-“ The voices grew quiet, a whisper about them. “Do you hear that?”

 

Ella didn’t remember stepping forward, didn’t recall telling her body to do such a thing. The bloodstained faces of two battle-weary fighters stared at her with horror, a fear that stabbed and twisted into her gut with it familiarity. _Monster_.

 

They drew their swords. She found daggers in her hands.

 

The life was draining from their gaping throats before the fight began.

 

Ella tried to drop the daggers but they were firm in her grasp, fingers stiff and unresponsive as they clenched tight against the grip, knuckles white. A light touch at her side and she looked down, saw Cole with his ridiculous hat shielding his face.

 

“It isn’t real. This won’t happen.”

 

Of course. So obvious, she shouldn’t have to be told, really. Still, as she danced her way through straggling warriors, as the bodies thudded against the uncaring dirt behind her, Ella couldn’t help but to repeat it under her breath like a mantra.

 

“This isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real-“

 

Finally finally _finally_ they reached the steps where it had all begun, and how was it so long ago and yet a heartbeat away? A blackened form streaked with green lifted her, slammed her helpless against the stone wall and she could feel the newer scars rip open and hot blood drip and spurt under her armor.

 

“Unfair, unfair,” the thing hissed, her but not her, a twisted mimic that mocked with stolen features that didn’t quite fit. “That thing kept you whole, kept you from giving me your shape.”

 

Its hand at her throat, searing into skin where it did not touch the collar. _The collar_. Even here it followed her, haunted her. Growling and spitting, Ella clawed at the arm, fingers burning against the sparks of Fade that coursed through its body.

 

“Let me go,” she snarled.

 

“Let me… go,” muttered the thing, stumbling over the words as it tried to pull its own voice into a semblance of hers. “Let _me_ go. Let me…” It spat, bringing a sparking hand to her head. Ella flinched against the spurting heat, scrabbling for purchase against the not-flesh. It growled, low and threatening. “We’ll start again. More pain this time. The Elder One still comes.”

 

So close so hot so much pain can’t do this _I can’t please stop_ and-

 

“It’s frightened of you.”

 

Cole’s voice tore Ella from the confines of her terror, brought her mind to heel. She glared down at Envy, saw as the creature turned to the spirit with a frustrated sneer.

 

“Get out of-“

 

It was distracted. _Never again_. A screech and Ella drove a knee into its skull. It stumbled, dropped her. _Never again._ A lunge and she tackled the thing, driving it back.

 

Envy snarled, a scream ripped through the green-tinged nightmare and Ella found herself, daggers in hand, face to face with a Lord Seeker Lucius whose form was in the process of shifting, skin rupturing into pale memory of flesh and gross mimicry of humanity. Envy skittered away, and Ella could not be sure if it was the demon who sent that low growl rumbling across the grounds. Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, she lunged at the creature, white-hot rage spurring her to violent pursuit. When it disappeared behind a magical barrier she snarled, a guttural noise deep in her throat, and threw herself against the wall, battering her body on the magic construct until the skin split along her shoulder and blood welled scarlet about her knuckles.

 

Someone was shouting. Perhaps it was her name. She heard nothing but the feral and insistent voice that pounded at her skull, screaming for revenge, for _never again_. And arm wrapped itself around her middle and she twisted in its grasp, wrenching her body away from the force that pulled her back, lashing lamely with any weapon at her immediate disposal. A deep voice growled in her ear.

 

“Ella. _Asaaranda._ Listen to me.”

 

She snarled but stopped thrashing, chest heaving against harsh breaths, eyes darting about but not seeing much of anything. The Iron Bull grimaced.

 

“We have an audience, boss. As much as I hate to say it, you might want to put on your Herald face right about now.”

 

She nodded, breaths stuttering in her throat as she forced them to slow. Her hands unclenched slowly, blood pooling in the crescent furrows her nails had left. Ella ripped the snarl from her face and molded her features into something more or less presentable. Nothing felt quite real and her mind was oddly detached from her body, but other than that she was fine. Ella tapped the arm that held her once, twice. She was dropped, fell gracefully to the floor.

 

“An Envy demon.” Her voice was strong, and the mask secure. Out of the corner of her eye she could see The Iron Bull frowning, but she wasn’t sure why. He had said it himself: this was necessary.

 

Ella started, forced frayed nerves to calm as Cassandra rushed to her side. Clearly the Seeker knew more about Envy than she herself did; in all honestly Ella had not even known that such a creature existed.

 

“Envy? Then the Lord Seeker…?”

 

“Caged or dead. Maker.” That was… what was his name? Barris, that was it. Her faculties were returning, albeit through a red haze that had settled over her mind. _Breathe_.

 

Red lyrium. He knew it must be risky. Ella managed to keep her face calm, allowed the fury to dissipate through a roll of her wrist. It was a mite hypocritical to be angry with this man who was just following orders. _Been there. Done worse._

 

Besides, it was that demon who needed to _burn_.

  
She filed the rage to a singular point, fine and close and _sharp_. She let that be her focus. It was dangerous, for sure, but more dangerous would be trying to let all of that anger go.

 

“I can tell you first hand, it’s a clever liar.” Ella wasn’t speaking, but there was her voice ringing through the air. For a moment she panicked thought that perhaps Envy had truly succeeded, but no. It was all automatic, a growth in the mask. _Focus_. “Bring your best to stop it.”

 

Veterans, lyrium, and would you look at that, corrupted Templars storming the hall. Ella loosened her daggers and allowed herself to fall into what could only be described as a battle trance. All in all it was shaping up to be a lovely evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments make me really happy!


	14. I'm Sure

The world was a blur of color, sound, and the overpowering odor of gangrenous flesh. A stilted song tugged at her mind, sickly sweet temptation on stilted chords and jarring melodies. Ella killed and found that it wasn’t hard. The difficult part was killing the _right_ people, something she barely managed under a steadying hand from the Seeker and a soothing word from The Iron Bull. _Scarlet spatters silent, arcing from silver blades like sparks of life ended._

 

A man charged her, sword aloft. Everything was red. She ducked the blow, sent a blade through his ribs. Still red. _The world’s on fire_.

 

Envy was white, haloed with the fiery crimson haze that left it stark against everyone else. Ella’s eyes narrowed, a growl on her lips. A heavy hand fell upon her shoulder and she dragged her gaze upwards, face still pulled into a feral snarl, to find The Iron Bull looming over her, fingers digging into her skin and just barely nudging the wrong side of painful. A low rumble in her throat and she shrugged off his hand, darting forward in one smooth motion with her daggers clenched tight against white-knuckles. There were words, but they fell flat against deaf ears, overrun with the scarlet that stained Ella’s senses. Her and Envy. Nothing else.

 

A sharp intake of breath and she lunged, daggers outstretched to strike at the creature’s hide. It swiped out to bat her aside but she wrenched her body to the ground, ducking underneath the grotesque limb and darting upwards, digging daggers into the pale flesh that sizzled and burned at her touch. The creature heaved a guttural screech and swung a fist down upon her with unnatural speed, dirt spraying upwards from where Ella had been but a heartbeat before.

 

She was behind it, now, and a leap and a jab at the junction of its shoulders struck true before it spun around, an elongated arm dashing her against stone and mud. A warm salty tang in her mouth and Ella spat, stood, screamed. Incoherent and wild, _Never again_.

 

A barrier sunk into her, constricting her lungs and suffocating her flesh, prodding her further into a red-fog rage. Ella threw herself at Envy, no care for the claws that sunk into her flesh or the blood that welled black and thickened over every rancid gash. Her daggers darted forward with a vicious fury fueled by incessant vengeance, drawing forth pale, sickly blood that dissipated as it struck solid ground. It splattered across her face, her hands. It sizzled, burned. She kept stabbing.

 

It was dead. She knew that. Of course she knew that. Words buzzed at her ears but the world was still red and she found that she couldn’t quite control the motion of her arms. Up down up down and the blades squelched into rotting flesh that drifted from the physical even as she drove strike after strike into its lifeless body.

 

_It won’t die_. It was dead but it wouldn’t die. _Still here, still here, make it stop make it stop._

 

More words. A silver blur from the haze and Ella started, swung around with one dagger raised; the other still plunged into the sunken flesh. Lips drawn into a snarl she faced her new assailant, who seemed to back away.

 

_It’s dead but it won’t die_. Fingers groping through her mind, long and slender and _hurting me why are you doing this?_ Looking for the pain, the fear, _it wanted to be me, even I don’t want to be me_ it was still there, still sneaking across her thoughts and ripping at her mind.

 

An arm around her waste and she was bodily dragged from the fading demon. A hand at her wrist prevented her from lashing out. Two more grasped her legs. Some combination of effort pinned her to the red muddied grown as she struggled listlessly against the grasp, desperate eyes locked on the demon. It sank into the dirt, flakes of flesh flitting up into the air and burning up with a green spark as they returned to the Fade. Gone, now. _Still here still here_.

 

“Ella, can you hear me?” Words, harsh and quite against the roar of rage but yes she could hear him, so she nodded. That was what she did, wasn’t it? She obeyed.

 

“You good there boss?” Ah, that was The Iron Bull. She grinned, a trickle of something streaking across her cheek as she stifled a painful giggle. Ella shook her head.

 

She thought she could feel a hand shake against her. She didn’t know whose. “We’re gonna let you go now, okay?” Another nod, and the hands receded. Ella, back pressed into the worn flagstones, looked up at the sky but did not see it. She laughed again, the motion drawing agony from her ribs, which only made her laugh harder.

 

“What is wrong with her?” There was the Seeker. Thought she was being quiet, discreet, but Ella heard it. _If only she knew_. Another giggle, and Ella leaned her head back into the rock, back arching slightly. _Sharp edges against flesh already pockmarked and it hurts it hurts it hurts_ but _don’t let them see the weakness,_ so she laughed and reveled in the small bursts of agony that were her cracked ribs and the way her skin felt tattered and rotten because _the outside is the same as the inside_.

 

A hand at her chest and warmth pushed its way into her bones. Ella growled, a warning and a promise, but the hand did not shift. She opened one eye to find what she already expected: Solas, leaning over her with his damned magic in hand. _Touching me, changing me_. She would not let it happen. _Never again_.

 

Ella started upwards, snapping at the apostate with a gnashing of teeth and wrenching her body away from his grasp all in one fluid motion. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him retreat ever so slightly before she was pinned to the ground once more, hands forcing her from shaking off the magic that _infected_ her with its vile touch and her stomach might have heaved if she had had the energy. As it was, she put up a feeble struggle before collapsing against their grip, letting the mage do his work.

 

Slowly a strange sort of sanity trickled back into her mind, a clarity that strangled the haze and left her battered and battle-worn. Solas’s hands still hovered above her torso, warm tendrils of magic seeping into her flesh and realigning her cracked ribs. With weary eyes she shifted slightly, finding the others. Cassandra, Varric, Bull… Sera was perched on a rooftop, looking extremely uncomfortable. Even Vivienne was nearby, terrorizing the nearest Templars into some task or another.

 

Ella squeezed her eyelids shut, as if that might keep the world out. A heavy hand rested on her shoulder and she opened them again.

 

“You good now, boss?”

 

_No. Never._ Ella nodded. She stood slowly, shaking off Solas as she did so. The Seeker approached, hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

 

“I’m not quite sure what that… display was,” she said sharply, lips pulled into a line. “But I suppose it matters very little. Reports are coming in, and it seems that the threat has passed.”

 

“For now,” Ella muttered, lips moving without her consent. Cassandra’s gaze grew ever so troubled.

 

“For now,” she echoed.

 

The Templars, of course, were in disarray. Ella suppressed a snarl, managed a semblance of professionalism, but she could not shake a strange sort of disgust for their behavior. It mingled unpleasantly with an overwhelming sense of pity born of uncomfortable familiarity. She knew this. She knew them. _Seen this before_. They stood before her lost and unsure, trained to follow but with no one left to lead. The mark burned heavy in her palm.

 

“You will serve the Inquisition and prove yourselves in the eyes of the people and the Maker once more.” Still Envy tugged at her mind. _Do you really want these lives in your hands as well?_ She forced her grimace into a smile. This was what was best for Thedas, and would certainly save more lives. Sensing the dramatic opportunity, Ella gestured her marked hand towards the faint outline of the Breach hovering just above the horizon. In a strange fortunate timing her hand blistered against the cool air, spurting bouts of wild green light.

 

They knelt to her, and she smiled as a small part of her died.

 

The journey back to Haven was more stressful than dangerous, and she was careful to avoid anyone who might ask unreasonable questions. Cassandra was particularly easy to avoid, as she seemed a bit miffed that Ella had apparently disbanded the Templar Order, at least for the time being. Ella was fairly certain that their resident Seeker would be occupying herself with work, blowing off some steam before having a legitimate conversation. The need for space was understood and appreciated. Ella stayed away.

 

Vivienne, it seemed, was more curious than most. Given that the Enchanter happened to be an avid participant in the Game, however, Ella was sure that the Iron Lady would refrain from bombarding her with questions. She would remain restrained in manner and polite in mien. Any hint of confusion, anger, and even concern would be hidden beneath layers of formality and poise. Ella would evade.

 

The Iron Bull… she just avoided him. There was much to be done. Nobles needed unruffling, Templar’s needed their faith restored, requisitions needed to be made. It was within reason that Ella somehow found herself out of sight whenever the qunari made his rounds.

 

As it was, the so-called Herald of Andraste was currently consoling a young man, barely old enough to even be considered a Templar. Vivienne was nearby, sitting tall and proud atop her noble charger. The Iron Bull was nowhere to be seen, which suited Ella well.

 

“How can the Maker forgive us for what we have done?” The lad was stone-faced, struggling to hold back a sob but conditioned to know that he must keep his emotion under wraps. Ella managed a smile and a soft touch to his arm.

 

“You must first and foremost seek forgiveness from yourself,” she murmured. It didn’t feel right. _I’ve never been the praying type_.

 

“But we _failed_.”

 

“You were simply following orders. Those above you should have known better. You bear the least blame.”

 

“I should have known. We were betraying the ideals of-“

 

“They led you astray. What could you have done?”

 

_Desperate denial, weaving webs of meaning until the horror has passed._ There it was again. Ella glanced over her shoulder and thought she caught a glimpse of a wide-brimmed hat before it suddenly vanished. Resisting the urge to scowl, she turned back to the Templar, who seemed deep in contemplation.

 

“I… I don’t know. I could have left…” He seemed conflicted. This was good; he needed a little bit of doubt. _I can’t let him blame himself_.

 

“If you had left, another would have taken your place,” said Ella simply. “Instead you were there to take up your sword when the time was right.”

 

“I… Thank you, Your Worship.”

 

She batted away the urge to flinch with impatience. Instead she smiled with the slightest incline of her head. The Templar moved away, perhaps to receive some more healing. He did have a rather nasty looking cut on his arm.

 

“You handled that with utmost poise, my dear.”

 

It took much of her will to keep her from starting, more still to turn with a languid sort of grace to Madame de Fer. Ella adjusted her pace casually, maintaining a distance that didn’t force her to crane her neck upwards as she talked.

 

“If I didn’t know any better I might consider that to be a compliment, Lady Vivienne.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so hasty, darling. Templars are easily led.”

 

“They _are_ rather fond of their leashes.” Ella kept her voice even as she quickly glanced about the immediate vicinity. No one there who might benefit from this conversation. “Perhaps that is what led us to such an impasse in the first place.”

 

“I’m sure.” That was Game-speak for _‘I’m not agreeing with you, but I am’_. Could also mean the opposite, depending on context. Ella forced her face into a polite smile while attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance. _Never let them see you try_. It had been a while since she had even attempted the Game. This would be good practice. Vivienne continued. “My dear, I can’t help but notice that your accent is quite charming.”

 

_‘Where are you from?’_

 

“Is that so? I have never given it much thought.”

 

_‘Not up for discussion.’_

 

“It reminds me of Nevarran, but I’m sure that is of no consequence.” Vivienne tilted her head ever so slightly, and Ella was unsure about the meaning or validity of such a tell. _Probably a false lead_. “I’ve heard the cities of Nevarra are quite beautiful, although I’m sure that they are nothing compared to the majesty of Val Royeaux.”

 

_‘Acknowledged. Have you been to Orlais?’_ Ella was not asking enough questions.

 

“There isn’t much which compares to the majesty of Val Royeaux, especially during times of celebration. I’ve heard that the winter palace is lovely this time of year.”

 

_‘Yes, once or twice. Have you been recently to Halamshiral?’_

 

“Yes, there was a lively soiree about a year ago. The palace was positively gleaming in the snow. Empress Celene is quite a sight to behold, is she not?”

 

_‘I have been there, but not recently. What is your opinion on the war?’_

 

“She is lovely, for sure, but I do not pay much attention to such things.”

 

_‘I have not yet chosen a side.’_

 

That seemed to sate Lady Vivienne’s desire for knowledge, and the rest of their conversation was harmless prattle about the state of trade and the logistics required in gaining so many new mouths to feed and bodies to outfit. The Iron Bull made himself known, and Ella found herself beating a hasty retreat, forming what she hoped was an eloquent excuse about the state of the healing wagon (“Aiding our soldiers in a _wagon_ of all things!”) and walked with purpose to the other side of their entourage. A hand caught her arm, and she ripped herself free, whirling around to face him. Because of course it was their over-friendly qunari who had grabbed her. Apparently he was finished with the little game of hide-and-go-seek they had been planning. A shame.

 

“I must admit I am become rather sick of your hands all over me,” Ella muttered with a scowl, hands on her hips though she wanted them curled protectively around her chest. _No weakness_.

 

“That’s not something I hear often,” he replied with a grin. “Especially from pretty ladies.”

 

“Well then it shouldn’t surprise you to hear it from me, then.” Ella was seeking out an escape route in a manner she hoped was inconspicuous.

 

“Give yourself some more credit, boss.”

 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure I’m very attractive,” she said shortly. “Men and women alike are swooning at my feet. Are we done here?”

 

“As a matter of fact, there _was_ something I wanted to talk to you about.”

 

“No.” Ella began to walk away, but she was stopped once again by a hand on her arm. _Breathe_. “I’d suggest you release me. The consequences could be dire.”

 

“Fancy words. You been talking to Viv?” He did as she asked.

 

“I dare you to call her that to her face.”

 

“You’re deflecting again.”

  
“And you’re being insufferable. Good day.” Ella made to leave again.

 

“Wait.”

  
She only stopped because he had _asked,_ and she wasn’t one to let a chance for positive reinforcement go to waste. Turning with a long-suffering sigh, she looked him straight in the eye. “Out with it, then.”

 

“Something messed you up back there.”

 

“If we are going to have this discussion, I’d rather it be in private.”

 

“Rather forward, don’t you think?”

 

“Or not at all. I have work to do.” Ella made her way to the healing wagon, but not before Bull called after her.

 

“We’ll talk at Haven. Your place.” She barely gave him a nod.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty long, but when I split if up it was kind of short. Oh well.
> 
> Updates are coming a bit more slowly because of school and stuff. Your comments make me happy! I'm really glad people are liking this story so far. Hang on to your hats, cause it's going to be a wild ride.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	15. Forgotten

 

 

Ella forgot. Or, rather, she forced the bad from her mind.

 

When the Commander extended a warm hand upon the almost ceremonial acceptance of Templar aid, Ella returned the gesture with strength and poise, refusing to let her eyes be dragged towards the sword at his side.

 

When the Ambassador offered a courteous smile and some generous compliment in regard to her dealings with the nobles, Ella replied with a polite laugh and a wide grin, steadying on the underside of her desk hands that insisted on trembling.

 

When the Spymaster requested an in depth report of the situation at Therinfal in light of the recent chaos, Ella agreed with the sentiment through even breaths, a voice needling at her mind, insisting that she never turn her back.

 

As far as Ella was concerned, nothing of particular note had occurred at Therinfal. It hadn’t happened. In order to enforce this mindset she kept herself largely apart from the others while the Templars were being settled, allowing the people who really ran the Inquisition to deal with the influx of problems she had caused. Most of the day she remained in her little cabin, hating every second that the walls closed in but dreading the eyes outside. At night she slipped away, into the woods. Ella didn’t run into Cullen again; she made sure of that.

 

An unfortunate side effect of this tactic was that she had pushed from her mind entirely the discussion she had had with the Iron Bull. The sun was just dipping beneath the green-streaked horizon and Ella was on the cusp of preparations for another night among the cold and tree trunks when a harsh rap at her door nearly spooked her from her skin. Reigning in her shuddering breaths Ella pulled on a mask of composure and opened the door with a smile.

 

 

The Iron Bull hadn’t wanted to press the issue. Their Herald had clearly suffered some sort of trauma, and that wasn’t something he wanted to charge into. So he waited and watched as she tucked all the messy corners into a tight little ball and neatly drew that little mask across her face. She was impressive, he’d give her that. Dangerous as well. She danced lightly with nobles just as she had with daggers. A word, to her, was a precise tool.

 

Not for the first time he wondered who she was and what she had been. A slave, obviously, but she had given him that, practically served it on a platter. That had been the test; only a witless fool wouldn’t have been able to puzzle that one out. And it seemed that Ella wasn’t in the habit of hiring fools.

 

Her combat style suggested assassin, but he had already sent off letters to his contacts in or near the Crows to no avail. The kid wasn’t Antivan, anyway. Not a dwarf, so she wasn’t Carta. Bard was his current guess –words behind masks that hid knives- but he doubted it all the same. The journey from Tevinter slave to Orlesian bard? Intriguing and unlikely. So the guessing game continued even as she studiously avoided him.

 

It was both irritating and impressive, the effectiveness with which she shut everyone out. He had barely managed to get a word in edgewise on the journey back and even then she was quick with her excuses. Haven itself was no better. The kid locked herself up, alternating between burying herself in the work of the war room and hiding away in her little cabin. She kept her patterns inconsistent because of course she did, and he was hard-pressed to intercept her in a manner that might seem casual. A week of playing cat and mouse and the Iron Bull had had enough. Let her sort her own damn problems out, then. No need to press the issue.

 

He had just come to this admittedly sulky conclusion sitting in his own spacious tent when a sharp crack and a fizzle like snow on fire brought him immediately to his feet, a weapon in his hands. His hand axe almost found itself in the boy’s skull before Bull remembered who the kid was: the Herald had called him Cole, had said that he was some kind of spirit and had helped her in Therinfal, but not much else. She _had_ specifically instructed them not to hurt him, though, so the Iron Bull reluctantly sheathed the axe and resorted to staring the boy down.

 

Cole his tilted curiously, as an owl might, and wrung his hands with an outpour of words.

  
“Battered bloody by cold bars, a cage that follows and finds, _‘It’s dead but it won’t die’_. Can’t let them see the hurt, can’t let them know she feels but it scrapes and scrabbles scarlet against her chest.”

 

That peaked Bull’s interest. “You talking about the boss?”

 

“She doesn’t like it when you call her that. A name that’s not a name. It reminds her of the dark.”

 

The Iron Bull sighed, reaching up to scratch at the base of a horn wearily. “Look whatever-your-name-is, it’s late-“

 

“She’s screaming on the inside, the Iron Bull. She forced the bad from her mind, but now it rots just beneath the flesh.”

 

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

 

“There is no one else.”

 

“There are plenty of people in this frozen-ass-”

 

“You helped. Before.”

 

Bull began to speak but stopped for a moment, staring at the Cole who stared back with wide impossibly blue eyes.

 

“It reminds her of the dark, when she wasn’t real. You made her real again. She was better.”

 

“You talk to her, then, if you know about all this.”

 

“She doesn’t see… no. She sees me, but she doesn’t _see_ me. She makes herself forget. It’s like when I do it, but not. She won’t let me talk to her. Demons and dark, screaming silence, ‘ _I won’t say yes’_.”

 

Bull fell into silence once more, sinking into a chair. That confirmed what he had already feared –the kid was hiding behind her masks while her soul slowly died. Asala-tar. If that was true, then it would only be a matter of time before she snapped again. She was the only one who could close that damn hole in the sky, so they needed her alive and at least mostly sane.

 

“You make excuses to do good things. Why?”

 

“You have to make sure the good things are for the right reasons.”

 

“What are the right reasons?”

 

“Fuck if I know.”

 

“… _Shok ebasit hissra_ …?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

“I hope you help.”

 

“Yeah, so do I.”

 

With that the weird-ass spirit-boy was off. The Iron Bull shook his head with a heavy sigh before rising to his feet. Hopefully she would still be cooped up in her little cabin.

 

 

She had forgotten that he had wanted to speak with her. That registered faintly behind the courteous folds of her mind. “Why hello, The Iron Bull. How may I be of assistance this fine evening?”

 

A flicker of something across his face; Ella could not quite make it out. Fatigue clutched at her mind in a way that was most irksome, and the little things that she might usually notice had been lost to a sluggish haze. He leaned against the doorway in a way that was clearly deliberate in its nonchalance.

 

“An unexpected guest dropped into my tent.”

 

“I…” Ella stifled a yawn and instead narrowed her eyes. “What?”

 

“That kid from Therinfal.”

 

“What kid?” _Pain in short sharp bursts, clawing screeching won’t say yes can’t say yes make it stop make it stop_ –Ella ripped the snarl from her face in an instant and shoved the errant memory back into its box. “Ah, yes. Cole. I hope you didn’t hurt him.”

 

“Nah. You said not to, and you’re paying me, so…”

 

“It is the Ambassador who orchestrates your payment.”

 

He only grunted in response. Ella sighed, running a hand through her hair.

 

“I’m not really in the mood for these games,” she muttered. Bull chuckled.

 

“You always get so blunt when you’re tired?”

 

“If the company is just right.” She tried for a smile and failed, but managed to salvage it as a yawn. “I should probably go-“

 

“To bed?” His foot was in the door. _Could slip by him, catch him off guard and get under his arm. Back window’s open, worse comes to worse there’s the chimney._

“Do you have a problem with that?”

 

“Only that you’re lying.” _Daggers are on me, could use the embers if I have to. Would make a good distraction._

 

She sighed heavily. “I don’t sleep much. It’s fine.”

 

“That isn’t the problem though, is it?”

 

_“_ I don’t _pay_ you to be my fucking _handler.”_ A slip, a mistake. The snap of harsh words on strained air and they both stilled. Sharp breaths of cold stinging at her chest as she forced calm into protesting limbs. “I apologize. That was not deserved.” The words were stiff.

 

“Boss… I wanted to talk to you. I told you when we were heading back. Do you remember?”

 

“Of course I do.” Of course she didn’t. It was in a box, and she didn’t dare go sifting through those when the hurt was still fresh.

 

“Do you know what I wanted to talk about?”

 

That gave her pause, although in truth it was perhaps a few short seconds of silence, teetering on the edge of a truth and a lie as she struggled to piece together what she _hadn’t_ shoved away without dredging up what she _had_.

 

“I had assumed you wanted to ask about the Templars.”

 

“Nice. Broad, a blanket statement. Could apply to anything regarding Therinfal.” He sighed, reaching up to scratch absently at a horn. His voice seemed uncharacteristically strained. “You really don’t remember?”

 

She considered lying, but knew that he would see through it. And wouldn’t it be nice if, just this one time, she actually told the _truth_.

 

“I don’t remember much of what occurred at Therinfal.”

 

“You don’t seem to think that’s much of a problem.”

 

She shrugged. “If it was so bad that I needed to forget it, then I don’t want to go poking around.” _It’s one of the few things about myself that I can trust._

 

“That’s not healthy.”

 

“Neither is stabbing your friends in the back.”

 

“We’re your friends?”

 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” _Kaffas_ , _save it save it_. “I’ve fought alongside all of you. That builds a certain level of camaraderie.”

 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to play games.”

  
“Life’s a game. The Orlesians got that much right.”

 

“There was an Envy demon.”

 

_Traitor monster slave, no no no I wouldn’t do that I wouldn’t do that_

 

Fighting that was an eternity, and shoving it back into a box left her head pounding. She inhaled deeply through her nose and opened eyes that she hadn’t realized were shut tight.

 

“ _Leave_.” Her words were nothing more than a whisper, harsh but harmless. The Iron Bull tilted his head with a narrowed eye.

 

“So that’s what you’re gonna do? Just pretend it didn’t happen and hope that no one brings it up? You’re too smart for this, boss.”

 

“You don’t know me,” she all but hissed.

 

“It leaves you open.”

 

Ella growled, cursed, managed to keep from screaming as she rammed a dagger in the doorframe. Bull didn’t flinch, instead watched her with a steady eye. Slowly, by agonizing increments she regained her composure.

 

“What would you suggest, then,” she said through gritted teeth and heavy breaths.

 

“You were just heading to the woods, right? Mind if I join you?”

 

_Rhetorical order._

 

“Of course I don't.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH
> 
> This was honestly so difficult to write, and I'm not sure why. Ah well, at least it's finished now. Sorry for the wait.
> 
> As per usual, thank you so much for reading and your comments are all read and greatly appreciated!


	16. Tomorrow

Soft footfalls left pale furrows in the fresh snow as they walked in what might have passed for companionable silence. Ella was tense. The Iron Bull was tense. Even the night held its breath in a restless gasp of hushed chill. Their eyes never met, but she could feel him glance her way every so often, and she was sure that he possessed the same awareness of her own gaze. His demeanor, however, betrayed nothing; calm and thoughtful, head tilted in an apparent appreciation of the natural wonders of Haven. Ella hoped that she looked much the same. In truth her grasp on presentation had become tenuous lately, and in recent days it was all she could do to pull on a smile and grind out an acceptable ‘hello’. The darkness dragged at her eyes, a promise of pain bated with the temptation of possible rest. Sleep, now that was a commodity she had rarely appreciated. _Too dangerous_. It was the restless corners of her mind that whispered those warnings, the part of her that shook under shadows and screamed at grasping hands. _He’s out there_.

 

All at once the woods broke upon them, a shifting sea of dense greenery that Ella was sure had once bustled with nighttime song, but in the aftermath of the Breach many creatures had fallen silent, huddled in holes and fearful of the spectral cackle of the massive tear in the Fade. She didn’t blame them; if not for the mark, she would likely be in a very similar situation. More daggers, though. One could never have too many, after all.

 

The lights of Haven faded from view and still not a word was shared between them. Silence seemed to blanket the forest, muffling the crunch of their boots on the snow and the occasional murmur of a roving insect too witless to stay hidden. When finally the Iron Bull spoke, it was like a knife tearing through that delicate cover.

 

“You’re tired.”

 

Gruff, as if passing it off for a passive observation. Ella knew better.

 

“We all are,” she replied simply, taking her time now as they picked their way across some particularly precarious tree roots. He made a noise half-way between a chuckle and a growl.

 

“Most of us sleep once in a while, though.”

 

“Well, no rest for the wicked, as they say.”

 

“That’s not really meant to be a guideline.”

 

“My bad. I must have misunderstood.” She sighed, digging the heel of her palm into her forehead as a sudden headache struck and then subsided. “Was there something you wished to talk about? Or are you just going to gripe about my sleeping habits.”

 

“You get this voice, when you’re pissed with me. Like, high up and condescending but harsh at the same time. It’s kind of cute.”  
  
Her voice was low and deadpan. “Nothing about me is cute.”

 

He grunted. “You’re just pissed because you want to drink this one away in a quiet little corner but you can’t cause everyone’s staring at you constantly now. You feel like you have to be something more to them.” Looking at her, now, out of the corner of his eye and she did her best to ignore the gaze. “And you don’t sleep. That’s a problem.”

 

“You are not my mother.”

 

“Nah, and I’m no Tamrassan either. But the world’s a fucked up place and sometimes you can’t find exactly what you need. I figure I’ll work with what I’ve got.”

 

“That…” Ella sighed and brought her palm to a throbbing temple. “That made little sense, although I’m sure that was only due to my obviously sleep-deprived state.”

 

“You joke because you know it’s true.”

 

“So you want to tuck me into bed with a mug of hot cocoa?” _Mistake mistake mistake_. Warning bells pounding in her head because _dammit I’m not supposed to know what chocolate is_. “Maybe read me a bedtime story?”

 

If he noticed the blunder –and there was no doubt in her mind that he did- the Iron Bull did not comment on it.

 

“Nope. I’m gonna knock you over the head with some common sense.”

 

“Well, I do admit that sense has never quite been a strong point of mine.”

 

“There was an Envy demon at Therinfal and you just want to forget about it.”

 

Screeching, clawing at the walls of her mind as unbidden thoughts came bursting forth from their carefully apportioned boxes. Doubly unpleasant with their reawakening, a thousand times worse when experienced all at once.

 

“…Boss?”

 

A hand was shaking her, and that was when she realized that she had fallen, and a sharp pain at her cheek told her she had grazed the skin on a nearby root. _Of course_. She stood quickly, if a little unsteadily, dismissively knocking aside the proffered hand and preferring to settle herself on a tree trunk. A hand through her hair, hopefully straightening it out ever so slightly, and she managed to pull some semblance of order to her expression.

 

“I’d very much prefer that you keep those particular events to yourself.”

 

“ _Why_?”

 

“You sound vexed.”

 

“Yeah. That’s one word for it. I might have used something a little stronger, but sure. Color me vexed.”

 

“It is long and complicated and I’d rather not bore you.”

 

“I think we disagree on what’s boring.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’d be surprised. There are no pictures, you see.”

 

“Low blow.” He didn’t even have the decency to even pretend to be offended. Ella huffed, shivering in an effort to hide a tremble.

 

“I’m aware.”

 

“Insulting my intelligence will get us nowhere.”

 

“On the contrary, I believe it might benefit me greatly.”

 

“Envy demon, boss.”

 

She winced once more, but seeing as how those particular boxes had already tumbled open courtesy of one irritating mercenary, the effect was not quite so strong.

 

“Yes. Envy demon. How could I forget.” There had to be a way to get him off of her considerably wearied back. Perhaps… he seemed rather comfortable with a lot of things –the mark of a harried past- but perhaps she could scare him off, as she had done time and time again with her advisors. It was worth a valiant shot, so long as she guarded any true information jealously. “I’m not particularly fond of demons, you know. Have had a few run ins with their kind in the past.”

 

He seemed uncomfortable, at least if she was reading him correctly. Not really squirming in his skin but at the beginnings of perturbed. It was a start. “You’ve mentioned.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure I have. I don’t like demons.”

 

“Does anyone?”  
  
“Well…”

 

“Solas fucks with spirits, not demons. He talks about that shit all the time.” That wasn’t who she had meant, although it was better that his mind had gone there. Safer, and a sign that he was truly unsettled, at least in the slightest.

 

“I killed Envy. It’s dead, and that memory can die as well.”

 

“There’s other shit that won’t be that easy. You need that memory.”

 

“And when I do, I’ll steady myself and reach for it. It is not gone, The Iron Bull. You cannot truly erase what has been experienced.” _Unfortunately._

 

“You don’t know how to cope.”

 

“I take offense. This _is_ how I cope.”

 

“Yeah, and did that help back in Therinfal? You almost bit my hand off.”

 

Ella’s lips pursed into a frown. She did not remember such a thing, past a faint red haze and a mild twinge of reflexive guilt. The box remained buried, and she needed to defuse and escape this situation before that changed.

 

“I apologize for any damage I might have caused.”

 

“That doesn’t fix it, boss. I’m pretty sure you might have tried to throttle Solas if we hadn’t held you down.”

 

This was meandering dangerously close to memory, starting to dredge up thoughts and feelings she would rather tamp down. And he was doing it on purpose, pushing and prodding at where he knew it hurt most, even if he didn’t know why. “I don’t like magic, either,” she replied through gritted teeth.

 

“How are we supposed to know when you’re actually you?”

 

“Maybe that’s really me, and this is just pretend.”

 

Silence, cold and unforgiving silence and _why did I say that_ and _so tired I’m just so fucking tired_ because she couldn’t sleep, not now, not with the Breach and Envy and mother _fucking Malice why_ did she have to-

 

_Keep it together._ She hadn’t lost yet. Sure, she might be on her last legs, but this could be salvaged. _Blood everywhere, it won’t come out I rub them raw but it wo-_ she shunted it aside. Tried to ignore _screaming how are they still-_ the thoughts that clamored for attention within walls _closing in, suffocating, please I can’t-_

 

_Breathe_. She laughed.

 

“You take everything so seriously.” A smile seared into her face, _hot twisting metal_ but still she laughed.

 

“Sometimes when people make a joke, they’re hinting at something true,” he said with the beginnings of a scowl.

 

“How insightful.”

 

“I’m missing sleep for this.”

 

“By all means, don’t stay up on my account.”

 

“You are…” He sighed, reigning in his composure in a manner that was most familiar and brought the slightest mite of true warmth to her smile. “You are going to kill yourself if you keep this up.”

 

“How unfortunate.”

 

“Yeah, you know what boss, it _is_ unfortunate.” Losing his temper again; it was becoming rather amusing. “You’re the only piece of shit who can fix that _thing_ in the sky. There are demons _everywhere_ now, and you are the only one standing between them and everyone else. If you die, _everyone_ dies.” Less amusing.

 

“I won’t die.”

 

“Pretty confident for someone who _flung herself at an Envy demon_.”

 

_The world’s on fire, never again never again it’s dead but it won’t die._

 

“I didn’t die.”

 

“You almost did.”

 

“But I didn’t.”

 

“We might not be there to save your ass next time.”

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“You keep saying that, but I’m not seeing any proof-“

 

It was fast. The time it took to register the fact that he had hit the ground was longer than the time it took to actually get there. Back pressed against the snow and there she was, looming over him with her knee on his throat and a hand at her side, resting idly along the slender hilt of a dagger. For the next couple seconds it was all he could do to blink bemusedly up at her while he tried to figure out what the _fuck_ had just happened.

 

Ella saw the little gears turning behind those horns and she grinned down at him, a smile that wasn’t a smile. Grim, deadly, cold.

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“That isn’t what I meant and you know-“

 

“I’ll live. Isn’t that what matters?”

 

She was trying to draw him out, now. He knew it, and she knew that he knew it. He knew that she knew, and so on. The question wasn’t knowledge, at this point; the question was more along the lines of how many cards they were willing to show. What they were willing to sacrifice for the long game. Ella had shown her hand, confirmed much of what he had already known but revealing a little of what he hadn’t. How to avoid the move next time, for instance. Secrets were a precious commodity, even in such small quantity.

 

“Your mental state,” he replied slowly, not moving even though his knee was beginning to ache. Her own knee was still at his throat, hand twitching along her dagger, and for a moment he wasn’t really sure if she was _all there_. “Matters.”

 

Her head cocked to one side curiously. “Whatever for?”

 

“Leadership,” he grunted, shifting slightly. The knee pressed down lightly, and he stopped. “This thing falls to shit, you might as well be dead.”

 

“I’m not in charge,” she scoffed. “I’m just a vessel for the mark. I don’t matter.”

 

Something tugged at his face, and Ella thought it might have been sadness. Strange.

 

“Well, even then, it still matters. You’re actually proving why right now.”

 

His voice had become strained, and Ella belatedly realized that she had been applying far too much pressure on his throat. Expression blank, she lifted herself off of him and to her feet, not bothering to offer him a hand as she busily brushed the snow off of herself. He rose, and she fancied that she could hear the creaking of his joints. She wrinkled her nose. That was the sound of someone who did not care for his wounds. The disdain fell from her face when she realized that she wasn’t really one to talk. _Pot, meet kettle._

There was really nothing to be said. Ella let the silence fall around and between them, allowed her thoughts to drift until he snapped them back to the present.

  
“They need you in one piece, or this is never going to work.”

 

Ella bristled, the hint of a snarl at her lips. “They _need_ me? You’re cozying up to the wrong person, _Hisraad._ I’m just someone they can shove on a pedestal. I’m the person they’ll smother with blame when this all goes to shit.” She needed to stop talking, but it was just _too much_ of him lying to her, _too much_ pain and _I remember_ and it was terrible agony and _lies lies lying to get under my skin, burrow through flesh, poison from the inside_ as if he thought her a _fool_ and “I thought I was free but this is just another cage.”

 

Bull leveled her with a long and thoughtful stare, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face but none of them permitted long enough for any sort of identification. Finally, with some hesitance but great certainty, he spoke.

 

“They’re not trying to trap you. They don’t want to hold you here, but they just don’t see another option.”

 

“That doesn’t make it better.”

 

“You think they’re trying to make you a slave?” She visibly winced at the word, too frayed and harried to conceal the motion. Bull’s frown deepened and he continued. “They aren’t. No one’s gonna put a collar on you.”

 

“Someone beat them to it,” she laughed hoarsely in a humorless attempt at levity.

 

“They aren’t gonna chain you up, either. When the Breach is sealed up and the rifts are closed, you can leave.”

 

“Truthfully I’m not sure I’ll survive long enough to-“ She strangled it at last, thank _fuck_. Saved herself from more damage and managed to cut that thread of conversation. Better late than never.

 

“I thought you said you could take care of yourself.” Of course he wasn’t going to just let that one go. Ella sighed.

 

“I’m not the best equipped when it comes to giant holes in the sky. I can’t say it ever came up.”

 

“The Breach isn’t gonna kill you.”

 

“No offense, but you are _also_ not the best equipped when it comes to-“

 

“The Templars will repress it.”

 

“Which will only make my connection _stronger_.” Ella stopped herself before she could grind her teeth, drawing in a deep breath of cool air and reveling in the way it stabbed at her lungs with blades of ice. “Think of it like… a flame. I am one person. My light is small. The Breach is a hub for many spirits and demons and raw magical power. Its light is very, very large. But when the Templars suppress it, the Breach will dim. My light becomes brighter by comparison.”

 

“So far I’m not seeing any death here, boss.” He sounded doubtful. Like he thought her paranoid. She grew unsure of her words, a sensation that was becoming worryingly familiar.

 

“It isn’t death, really.” Ella felt a twisting at her fingers and glanced down to find that she was wringing her hands. She forced them to lie still. “I become brighter. A beacon. They’ll all be able to see me, then.”

 

“They…?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Clearly it does.”

 

“No, it doesn’t. You just want to _make_ it matter so you can-“ Another steadying breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

His voice grew dangerous, a sort of calm anger that made her want to shudder. She didn’t, though, of course she didn’t. “So I can what, boss?”

 

“You are a spy. It’s only natural to be suspicious.” She waved a hand. “Think nothing of it.”

 

He was inclined to think much more than nothing, she knew, but thankfully he kept his mouth shut about it. One of his few endearing qualities, if one used the term ‘endearing’ lightly.

“This was smart of you,” she said, feeling a sudden lack of inhibition. His head tilted quizzically, the action comically exaggerated by the bend of his horns.

 

“A lot of things I do are smart. Gonna have to be more specific.”

 

“You took me out here. Away from Haven. I can’t hurt anyone out here.”

 

“You think you’re gonna hurt people boss?”

 

“I’ve already hurt people. So have you.”

 

“You’re deflecting.”

 

“I am tired. Very tired. But I can’t sleep.”

 

His gaze turned troubled as he turned to stare at her directly. “You’re being awfully free with-“

 

“I can’t sleep because I have _dreams_ and… and I have _dreams_ because of demons. And I wish I could say that it’s because of this fucked mark but I’d be lying, and I think I lie too much as it is.”

 

“Boss…”

 

“I drop my guard when I lunge. My hands fly out and a well-timed stroke could take me out pretty easily, if you know to look.”

 

He was silent, and it was uncomfortable. Ella almost made to leave but couldn’t quite press her protesting limbs into action. Her eyes raked across his face, desperate to discern intent in vain, as any flicker of emotion was lost in the shadow and glimmer of moonlight off snow.

 

“I thought I couldn’t be trusted. Ben Hassrath and all.”

 

“You can be trusted to act a certain way under certain conditions. Until whatever terms have brought you here expire, your goal is to close the Breach and figure out what caused it. Any threats to Thedas and, by extension, the Qun are of utmost concern. If I become a threat, you can be trusted to deal with that.”

 

“You need to sleep.”

 

“I think that has very little to do with our current conversation.”

 

“I don’t give a fuck what you think, boss.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like someone who wants a raise.”

 

“Talk to Solas.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“He’s cozy with that demon crap. He might be able to help you out.”

 

It took an unreasonable amount of effort to keep her fist from slamming into the side of his face. “I don’t need a _mage_ to help me fall asleep.”

 

“Awfully close minded of you.”

 

“Surprising, I know.”

 

“It is.” Silence. She made to move, to _run_ , but stopped when he spoke again. “Cullen?”

 

“The Commander is… I don’t need to trouble him with something like this.” That man had too much weighing down on him as it was. Iron Bull grunted, frustrated.

 

“What about Cassandra.”

 

“The Seeker-“

 

“ _Cassandra_.”

 

Ah, so he’d noticed that. Ella repressed a grimace. “The _Seeker_ is busy.” The Seeker had also held the leash, if only briefly. It was petty and baseless, Ella knew (or at least thought she knew), but it would take time for that mistrust to subside.

 

“Re-“

 

“If you suggest our friendly Spymaster you’ll have to invest in another another eye-patch.”

 

“…Fair enough. Josephine?”

 

“Busy,” replied Ella shortly. Though it was relieving to have stepped away from Therinfal, her patience for this line of conversation was wearing dangerously thin.

 

“Talk to Varric, then. Or that demon-kid, whatever his name is. Or Viv.”

  
“She’s going to murder you if you keep calling her that.”

 

“Do you want to kill someone, boss? Cause that’s what’s gonna happen.”

 

_Screaming still screaming_

 

“I can take care of myself.”

  
“But can you take care of everyone else?”

 

_Won’t come out, hands still red I_

 

“That’s what Envy said,” she murmured. Something tugged at her gut and clutched at her throat, but she swallowed it down. _Envy_. It hadn’t lied, not really. Everything it had said came from _her_. That was the true horror of demons. Of the Fade.

 

He responded in kind, his voice brushing a whisper. “You need to talk Ella. You can’t bottle this one up.”

 

The snow was beautiful. White and pure and _free._ And sometimes a soft breeze caressed the forest, rustling trees and kicking up a soft dust that swirled about tree trunks and clung to the legs of passers by. Frigid air bit at her lungs and gnawed at her face in a way that might have been refreshing if-

 

“Ella.”

 

“Yes?” She couldn’t have this conversation. She was tired, she was weak, and the wounds were still open and sore. _Salt in the wound_.

 

“You good in there?”

 

“Of course.” She wasn’t. He seemed to understand.

 

“I’m not gonna tell Par Vollen your life story.”

 

He seemed honest; his pulse didn’t flutter when her eyes darted to his neck, and his gaze was steady. Still, he was like her, and that meant he could lie. _Hisraad._ They wouldn’t give him that title for nothing.

 

_Can’t risk it_. Even if he wasn’t lying… she just couldn’t. The less they knew, the better it would be when the Breach was closed. No strings, no trails, not this time. _Run_.

 

Envy, though… maybe it _would_ help. Selectively. _Have to be careful._

 

“Maybe.” Was all she said, arms crossed over her chest.

 

“That’s a lot for tonight anyway,” he replied, scratching a horn thoughtfully. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

 

“I thought _I_ was the boss.” The joke fell flat. Neither of them acknowledged that.

 

“Tomorrow night.”

 

“I heard you the first time,” she growled, fingers twitching against her daggers. “Templars are arriving soon.”

 

“Tomorrow, Ella.”

 

Ella sighed. “Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I do not like this. This was a bitch to write for no apparent reason.
> 
> There's a lot of dialogue and not a lot of action, for which I apologize. Hopefully it's fun dialogue.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to post questions or comments!


	17. A Busy Day

So much work to be done, it might have been easy to lose herself in it; but no, of course not, because there were so many of those reverent glances and hushed voices and those little nods of respect that made her flesh writhe and burn, and everywhere she turned there was someone who had an absolutely _urgent_ message for the Herald of Andraste and even though _that’s not my name_ she would turn and smile and laugh and do all the things that holy people are supposed to do because what else did they have?

 

The Templars were trickling in, and accommodations were sprouting up as they did like weeds on neglected farmland. Ella pulled a hood low over her face and shoved her hands into thick gloves, desperate for a speck of anonymity as she made her way across Haven, planning on aiding in setting up some shelter. The Breach would need to be discussed, she knew, and she was more than willing to hide from the upper echelons of the Inquisition for as long as possible if it meant staving off that conversation.

 

Unfortunately a hand caught her elbow on the way past the tavern.

  
“Dancer! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

 

Ella forced her grinding teeth into a smile as she turned to face Varric.

 

“You’ve started early, Teapot.”

 

“You flatter me, but I actually haven’t. Started, I mean.”

 

“Then why are you-?”

 

“Just walking by.” He shuffled slightly. “Dancer I kind of wanted to talk to you.”

 

 _Not him too_. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

 

“It’s just that… I haven’t seen you in a couple days. Asked around, and it seems like that’s been the case with almost everyone.”

 

“If you’re insinuating that I’m avoiding you-“

 

“I’m not insinuating anything. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

 

That gave Ella some pause. A reassurance would be empty and unconvincing. She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully.

 

“The last few days have been… difficult.”

  
He snorted. “You could say that.”

 

“Yes, well, I admit that I haven’t precisely been handling it well. I thought it better if I just… took some time to myself. If only for a little while.”

 

“Dancer,” said Varric, fixing her with a pointed stare. “We’re here for you. To talk.”

 

“The gesture is appreciated, Teapot, but I’m sure that no one has time for-“

 

“We’ve all fought alongside you. I can’t speak for the others, but you’ve definitely saved my ass more than once. I mean shit, I’ve even seen you take a hit for Chuckles, and I know what you think of him.” He sighed. “I’m just saying; if you need to talk, we’ll make time.”

 

“I’ll think on it,” said Ella stiffly.

 

“Please do.” And with that he disappeared into the tavern.

 

It took a few bewildered moments before Ella’s mind could catch up with her body, which had begun to move towards the outskirts of Haven on its own. Was she so easily read? The Iron Bull was understandable, as were his motives, but Varric? What could he possibly have to gain?  
  
Which of course led to the conclusion that he _meant_ it, and that he was being _honest_. She soured at that thought. Honesty was dangerous, as was the fact that she was the smallest mite _pleased_ that he seemed to truly care for her. It meant that her worst fears had been confirmed and she was in way too deep. _Close the Breach, and then run_. That was the plan. She couldn’t let a couple stray threads ruin it.

 

And still she had to keep them pacified. If they began to worry, they might grow suspicious and start to keep a closer eye on her. That would make it more difficult to run. It was why she had agreed to meet with the Iron Bull at nightfall. And it was why she turned and made her way towards the Chantry.

 

“You are like him. Fixing reasons for right. Why?”

 

“Hello, Cole.”

 

He gasped. “You see me!”

 

“Yes.” She did not turn her head.

 

“Flitting forms, faking friends from beyond. It hurts to look. You don’t have to.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“You know.”

 

Ella sighed, bringing a hand to her temple. “I am assuming that the ‘he’ is the Iron Bull, yes?”

 

“You say his name, but it’s just another wall. Titles that shield you from feeling-“

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We are very much alike. Perhaps you should ask him instead?”

 

“I already did.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“ _’You have to make sure the good things are for the right reasons.’_ ”

 

“Intriguing. I suppose my justification is similar.”

 

“You change your voice so often. Doesn’t it hurt?”

 

“Stay on topic, please.”

 

“I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re so _bright_.”

 

Ella froze, and Cole was quick to speak again.

 

“He hasn’t found you.”

 

“That is what I want to hear.”

  
“It would hurt more if I lied. He hasn’t found you.”

“ _How_?”

 

“Solas told me not to tell.”

 

“The _apostate_ is keeping him out of my-“

 

“He told me not to tell you.”

 

“You haven’t technically told me, Cole.”

  
“I know.”

 

Ella resisted the urge to growl, and instead rolled a wrist in an attempt to dispel her ever-mounting irritation. “Why would he do that? Does he know about-“

  
“You told him.”

 

“I did not.”

  
“Yes. At the tavern. _Find a good story. Something to scare them. Keep them away_. You told Solas about _him_.”

 

“He couldn’t have possibly figured it out.”  
  
“He knows that you don’t like demons. So he keeps them away.”  
  
She allowed herself a huff. “I suppose that means I must thank him, then.”

  
“He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want you to be indebted to him.”

 

“That’s… oddly considerate.”

 

By then they had reached the oddly innate Chantry doors. Ella turned to bid Cole farewell, but he had already flitted off. Pressing a finger to her temple, she wearily inched open the door before slipping inside.

 

It was dim, which was to be expected. Not much money for glass in these parts, and windows were bad for insulation. So the faithful muttered their desperate prayers in darkened nooks and crannies, afforded the privacy of shadows, at least for the moment. Ella stepped softly, mindful of the souls who came here for a moment of quiet in a life that had been so disrupted. She found herself at the door that led into the war room before she hesitated.

 

 _Can I do this?_ It was a valid question. Ever since Envy, being around the Inquisition’s leadership, even briefly, left her drained and agitated. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her composure, and at times she could actually feel herself slipping into another episode. It wasn’t pleasant. It would be even less pleasant if she let herself occupy the same room as them, unable to leave without a _damn_ good excuse, unless she was fine with drawing attention. Which she wasn’t, of course.

 

While she idled at the door, however, she found her thoughts cut short by a certain blond ex-Templar throwing said door open, nearly smacking her in the face. Ella caught the look of seething irritation before he recognized her, and the face changed to one of stiff complacency. That was the look of a man who did not like his orders, but felt inclined to obey anyway. She didn’t like it shot her way.

 

“Greetings, Commander.”

 

“Where have you been?” Rather course, she thought. For him at least. He must truly be frustrated.

 

“Here and there.” Oh dear. His expression twisted, darkened, and too late Ella realized that noncommittal was most certainly the wrong way to go. Fortunately Josephine saved her from any further blunders by calling out from behind him.

 

“Lady Herald!” Ella nearly winced. Perhaps not so fortunate. “Please, come in. We were just discussing the Breach.”

 

Ella obeyed, gracefully sidestepping the Commander and walking into the room. “It seems to be a popular topic for conversation, these days.”

  
“So are you.” That was the Spymaster, and Ella’s smile became a chore.

 

“That was no intention of mine, I assure you.”

 

“When you run about as you do, you are bound to become a talking point,” said Leliana as Ella leaned casually against the war table, making a show of taking in the markers. In truth her gaze had grown unfocused, and she found her hands to be shaking unfavorably. They steadied against the wood, and she forced herself to _breathe_. The Commander reluctantly walked back into the room, drawing the door shut behind him.

 

 _Surrounded._ She breathed deeply, digging her nails deeper into the wood and forcing herself to leave the daggers sheathed.

 

“We have been looking for you,” said Cassandra simply. Ella responded with an apologetic smile.

 

“I’m sorry. It was not my intention to be hidden.” Oh but it was, and such a bold-faced lie was dangerous. “I just didn’t want to be in the way.”

 

Cassandra huffed. “You are the Herald.”

 

“I’d disagree, but clearly my opinion is meaningless.”  
  
“On this particular matter, what you think is largely unimportant, yes,” said the Spymaster. Ella shot her a too-bright smile.

 

“Thanks for clearing that up, _chéri_.” The Spymaster only scowled, and the Ambassador interjected hurriedly.

“I think that what Leliana is trying to say is that the people have already chosen you-“

 

“As their personal savior, yes.” Ella sighed. “I’m not arguing. I understand what is necessary.”

 

“We appreciate it.”  
  
“Ever the diplomat.”  
  
“You certainly are testy today.”

“A lack of sleep has a habit of doing that to a person, Commander.” That shut him up, but only peaked the Spymaster’s interest.

 

“You are not sleeping?”

 

Evade. “Are you? The Breach makes many things difficult.”  
  
There was still suspicion in her eyes, but she seemed to drop it for now. “Very well. It’s good of you to join us, nonetheless.”

 

“I try my best.”  
  
“We know you do,” replied the Ambassador. Ella had meant it to be sarcastic, but ah well.

 

They spoke briefly about the Templars, about sleeping arrangements and food distribution. Evidently the Commander was irate about their disbandment. Oh, he wouldn’t outright _say_ it, but she could read it in his tone. He’d need some encouragement.

 

Next was the Breach, which was an altogether new level of uncomfortable. Ella’s palm actually flickered whenever she thought to long on the subject, jolting her with green spasms of static and reminding her unpleasantly of the rub of the collar on her neck. Which in itself threatened to lead her down an even more uncomfortable train of thought. Everyone noticed, with varying levels of tact.

 

“Are you alright, Lady-“ said the Ambassador finally.

 

“I’m fine. And not a lady.” Ladies had money, as well as an unsettling lack of freedom. It was not something she aspired to.

 

“We can break now, if you wish,” said the Seeker. Ella was tempted, she really was, but the Spymaster’s careful stare gave her pause.

 

“That’s unnecessary, and we’re almost done here anyway,” she said at last, shaking out the offending hand at her side. “I believe we were talking formations?”

 

And so they continued, arguing the most practical positioning, the threat of red lyrium, and the practicality of the few mages they had scattered amongst the Templars. To which Ella, predictably, vehemently objected.

 

“This is already risky enough. Do you really want to pump magic into something we barely understand?” She’d be so bright. All corners of the Fade would be able to see her. How would she hide?

 

“She’s right,” said Cullen, and Ella had never been so thankful for her tenuous friendship with the man. He had apparently disagreed with her treatment of the Templars, but was not overtly spiteful about it. Loyal to a fault. She’d read Varric’s book. “The Templars will be enough.”

 

“How do you know that?” countered Leliana. “We _need_ this to work. We should use every asset at our disposal.”

 

“I’ll make it work,” said Ella shortly. “No mages.”

 

“This is ridiculous.”  
  
“ _No._ _Mages._ ”

 

“I know you are predisposed on the matter-“

 

“This has nothing to do with my past, Spymaster.” It did, but not in the way she thought. At least, not entirely. Complicated, complicated, complicated. This whole thing was a mess, but at least now they knew that she wasn’t dead and hopefully didn’t think that she was getting ready to run.

 

“Then pray tell why you insist.”

 

“I don’t want someone else’s magic inside me,” Ella ground out, nails digging into the wood beneath her fingers. “It would be… It is not pleasant.”

 

“They won’t be trying to hurt you.” Everyone else had grown uncomfortable, but she was pressing. _Why_? Ella felt inclined to press back.

 

“No one’s ever _trying_ to hurt you, Nightingale. It’s always an unfortunate accident, is it not? That dagger in your back? Coincidence, I’m sure.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment Ella thought she had miss-stepped. But no, the Spymaster was finally silent, and that was worth a slip of the cards.

  
“I see.” Was all she muttered before Leliana stalked out of the room.

 

“What in… what was that about?” Cullen was bewildered; Ella didn’t blame him. She glanced at the Seeker and wasn’t surprised to find dark eyes fixed on herself. Cassandra knew. Josephine looked less confused than Cullen, but that was to be expected given her skillset. Both she and Cullen didn’t know. Interesting.

 

“I suppose we’ll end there, for today,” said the Ambassador, impressing even Ella with her composure. Assured and in control; Leliana was right to say that she was good. Dangerous as well. Ella silently bumped her up on the threat list. Words could hurt as much as daggers, she knew.

 

“That’s a wonderful idea,” she said. Ella was the first out the door. Made sure to keep her pace level, and tried her utmost not to push past the various faithful. The cold air that greeted her outside the Chantry was most refreshing, and Ella felt at last that she could truly breathe. The serenity was shattered when she caught sight of the Spymaster working diligently in her tent.

 

She tried not to eavesdrop. She really did. But there was something about betrayal and then another casual aside about assassination and that generally was enough to peak her interest. So it was that Ella found herself, hand splayed against a tent pole as she engaged in a heated debate concerning the nature of the Inquisition and its agents.

 

“It’s sloppy.”

 

“It is necessary.”

 

“A waste of resources.”

 

“He is a traitor. People are dead because of him.”

 

“Adding him to the list won’t help. No one _just turns_. There’s always a reason.”

 

Leliana let out a frustrated huff. “You aren’t going to let this go.”

 

“No, I am not,” replied Ella, crossing her arms.

 

“Fine. I’ll have him brought in. Alive, if possible.”  
  
“I’m glad we could see eye to eye.” Ella affixed an offensively bright smile to her face, and the Spymaster scowled but complied.

 

Ella understood the necessity of death, she really did, but the scenario had seemed off, and she was faced with the sharp and rather unpleasant thought that no one should have to murder a friend. They didn’t know everything; should at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

 

Of course she had to walk right past Solas next, because today hadn’t been difficult enough. She tried to steadfastly ignore him and walk as fast as nonchalance would allow but he called her over, insisting that he examine her hand.

 

“The magic could yet grow, Herald.”

 

 _Damn him_ , he knew how to play her fears. So she let him poke and prod at her palm, sitting impatiently on a short wall of crumbling stone until he declared himself satisfied. She did not stand, but instead forced herself to remain and eye him demandingly.

 

“So?”

 

He looked up, surprised. “Pardon?”

 

“What is this oh so valuable information that you have gleaned?”

 

His nose wrinkled. “The mark appears to be stable, for now. I would suggest sleep, but I know you will not listen.”

 

“You learn fast.” Ella slid off the wall and away from the elf, who sighed and went back to his daily activities.

 

She avoided the main entrance to the tavern, slipping around the side of the building and squeezing between rock and woodwork, earning a stinging scrape to her cheek for her troubles before managing to find open ground on the other side.

 

Mounts had come in, recently; proper mounts sent from that lovely horsemaster. She decided that examining some horses would make a perfect excuse for her absence and made her careful way towards the stables.

 

Of course, nothing could ever be that easy. She hadn’t been with the charger ten minutes before the fence creaked behind her, groaning under the weight of what could only be her favorite qunari. She remarked on such observations with a cool voice, hands wandering lightly across the steed’s muzzle as she did so.

 

“Aw, boss, I’m your favorite?”

 

“Favorite _qunari_. I only know one.” He laughed at that. Loud and rumbling - Bull never did anything by halves.

 

“You’ve been busy today.”  
  
“I’ve been out. I suppose it’s an improvement.”

 

“It is.” He stepped off the fence, much to the rotting wood’s relief, and walked to her side. Careful to maintain a safe distance, she noted and appreciated. “It’s a good horse. What are you gonna name it?”

 

She answered without a thought. “You don’t name horses.”

 

“Why not?” So innocent, so without insistence. Ella held her tongue before anything could slip.

 

“I am sure you could find an answer in your own teachings, qunari.”

 

“But what about your teachings, boss.”

 

“Contrary to popular belief, I am not an espouser of holy writs. I don’t preach.”

 

“Do you pray, though?”

 

“So many questions.”

 

“It’s kinda my job.”

 

“Yes.” Her hands moved down the neck, checking the sleekness of the coat and tugging any tangles from the mane. The Iron Bull stepped closer, just a tad.

 

“What would you name him? If you did name horses?”

 

She was silent, for a time, humming tunelessly as she composed her thoughts. Honesty would not be painful here.

 

“I haven’t given it much thought. Probably something to do with freedom. Or blood. That’s his job. It’s what he’s meant to bring.”

 

“A name that’s a job description?”

 

“You just… _don’t_ name horses. It’s a difficult habit to break.”

 

“Hm. It’s understandable. Too much attachment’s bad most of the time, ‘specially for a war mount.”

 

She grunted, growing sick of the diversion. “Why are you here?”

 

“Cause I said I would be. Tomorrow, remember?” There was a press behind the words, a sort of quiet insistence. Ella sighed.

 

“Yes, I remember. An unpleasant business, that.” She quashed a shudder, instead dusting herself off and turning towards him. “Anything in particular? It’s been a long day.”

 

“Yeah, I bet. You’ve been all over the place. The Tavern, the Chantry, the Tavern again…”

 

“Not now.” Her voice was sharp and toothed, the words steeped in venom and tinged with exhaustion. He paused and caught her eyes with his own.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Ella’s sudden anger dissipated, her hands shaking slightly as the abruptly cut off rage struggled to find an outlet. She forced them to still, sure that he saw it. Of course he saw it. How could he not?

  
This was stressful, that was all. And it would be over, soon.

 

 _Close the Breach, and get the fuck out_. It might as well be her mantra, for how often her heart jumped to a frenzy and she was forced to repeat it to herself, over and over until finally she found stillness. The sleep thing certainly wasn’t helping.

 

“I have to go help set up tents,” muttered Ella.

 

“Why don’t I put the Chargers on it too? They’re not doing much, right now.”

 

Why was he being so damned considerate? It was making things unreasonably difficult. She muffled her scowl with a delicate smile.

 

“I’m sure that’s not what they’re paid for.”

  
“They’re here now, and you’re paying ‘em. You’re the boss, boss.”

 

“I think I’ve made it very clear that it is our lovely Ambassador who-“

 

“You mean Josephine?”

 

Ella fought the urge to ground her teeth and won. Barely.

 

“Yes, our Ambassador. One and the same, how good of you to notice.”

  
“Yep, that’s me. I notice things.”  
  
“Indeed.” _Kaffas_ , the struggle that kept a snarl from her voice was ballad-worthy. Ella’s eyes sought out the many listeners. The _witnesses._ This was not the place to have this conversation, and she was sure that he knew it. So _why_ did he _insist_ on-

 

“You know, this Inquisition thing is all well and good,” he said, reaching up to scratch a horn; the epitome of nonchalance, and she had to admit it was damn _impressive_ the way he could play casual, so uninvolved that it teetered on forced but never quite crossed the line. “But you don’t have an Inquisitor.”

 

“I assumed that would be the Seeker,” replied Ella, the slightest confused and working her damnest not to show it. It had been a while since sleep had eluded her for this long, and teachings were beginning to swim and swirl at the forefront of her mind. _What’s the play, find the play_. Ella pushed it back impatiently; she knew her job, knew how to work.

 

“Huh. I woulda thought you’d go for Red.” So _fucking_ innocent but _what’s the play._

 

“Our Spymaster works behind a curtain. If she led, it would be from beyond a veil. Through others. The Seeker is strong. She is a holy figure. People flock to her because she practically radiates faith.

 

“So you’re saying that a holy figure should lead?”

 

“No.” Ella clenched her fist around the sputtering mark. What a _massive_ tell, she really needed to remedy that. “Although it does help. The Seeker…”

 

“Cassandra.” An aside, how quaint.  
  
“The _Seeker_ is in an optimal position, given the circumstances. Close ties to the late Divine, a history of strength and faith, and the attitude to prove it. Distant nobility, royalty, even.”

 

“You have good intel.”

 

“She tells you, if you just ask her.” True, but her intel also happened to be exceptional. Or at least, it had been. Ella wasn’t about to admit that, though.

 

“What about Cullen?”

 

“The Commander doesn’t need that. He’s lost enough as it is. He’d flail without some structure.”

 

“He leads your forces.”  
  
“He leads the Inquisition forces within a chain of command. It’s the illusion of order, but order nonetheless.”

 

“You and Cullen having a rough patch?”

 

She tried to catch his eye, but he wasn’t even _looking_ at her, damn him. Just staring out into the fields, looking over the men and women eagerly donning patchwork uniforms and hefting swords made by the dozen. Ella pressed a thumb to her palm, intrigued by the resultant pain.

 

“The _Commander_ -” This wordplay was growing insufferable. “-is simply irate about the state of our new Templar compatriots.”

 

“You start to talk all fancy.”

 

“The Iron-“

 

“It’s adorable.”

“The Iron Bull I don’t think that is quite relevant.”

 

“I think it is, though.”

  
“You talk too much.”

 

“You don’t talk enough.”

 

“So says the spy.”

 

“How you doing, boss? Honestly?”

She accidently met his eye, then, and was forced to tear her gaze away in order to maintain her decorum. Truly, he was masterful. She was tempted, very tempted, to fall into that obvious invitation of friendship, of camaraderie; but he was a _spy_ , and a damn good one at that. His very title meant deception, and titles were not to be taken lightly. A name is everything, and yet… and yet. Honesty like that is hard to fake, so there must have been _some_ truth to his words. Even if it was tempered with falsity, it was better than nothing. Ella’s eyes fluttered shut as the mark flared once more, and she bit down a hiss of pain. It was growing more frequent, and she didn’t need the apostate’s aptitude with magic to know that to be a very-bad-thing. _Close the breach and run._ Easier said than done, perhaps, but a girl could dream.

 

A girl could dream, but she’d been burned before. _Play it safe and close to the chest._

 

“I’m fine. Truly.” She flashed a weary smile and lightly placed her palm along the wooden fence, shielding the mark from view. “Just tired, is all. I’ll be better once we close the breach.”

 

Which was true. It was all true, and yet not, because if he was going to play that way then she was more than ready to reciprocate. _Wrap the falsehoods in truth, it’ll go down easier._

 

He didn’t completely buy it, but it was never her intention to win him over entirely; she was reasonably sure that such a feat would be impossible. He sighed, leaning on the fence once more.

 

“Yeah, boss, I think we’ll all be better once the big-ass hole in the sky is gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter... is long? It feels disjointed, but so is Ella I guess.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	18. The Breach

 

The Templars had all arrived, save a few stragglers. Meaning that it was time. Ella threw a cloak over a motley menagerie of knives strapped to her person; last time the rift had spat out a pride demon, and Ella wanted to be ready for anything of that sort. Of course, there wasn’t much that a dagger could do against the Breach itself.

 

Outside the wind was cruel, a force that carried flecks of snow in hypnotic swirls, slicing at any exposed skin and leading Ella to throw up her hood and fuss with the scarf at her neck: the same worn and threadbare piece of fabric she had owned before this whole mess. She couldn’t bear to part with it.

 

Stepping into the already muddied snow brought her to the attention of Solas, who appeared to have been waiting outside of her little cabin. _Odd_. She forced a smile, Cole’s words coming to the forefront of her mind before she managed to push them back. _He helped_. It was disconcerting, disorientating, even, to stand before this _mage_ and hate him for what he was even though she _knew_ that he had _helped_ and that he couldn’t help his own abilities, even if he wanted to, and what a distressingly familiar-

 

 _Breathe_.

 

Not now. Not today. Her gaze was drawn to the Breach before it snapped back to the approaching apostate. She just needed to maintain the rapidly deteriorating shitshow that was Ella for _one more day_.

 

“Good morning, Herald.”

 

“To you as well.”

 

“It has come to my attention that-“ _don’t do it_ “-even with the scarcity of resources at your disposal-“ _don’t you dare say_ “-you are refusing to allow those mages who have found their way to Haven a role in closing the Breach.” _Holy fucking-_

 

Ella might have screamed, but there was always the small matter of propriety. She settled for a strained smile, couldn’t find anything better.

 

“Although your concern is gratifying, I am certain that the Templar’s abilities will be sufficient.”

 

“I am familiar with the Fade. It is my study. At least allow me to-“

 

_Don’t touch me never touch me **don’t**_

“It’s simply unnecessary, Solas,” she said, smile turning apologetic as her stomach began to writhe and the skin beneath her collar itched, even burned. “We wouldn’t want to create more risk than is already inherent-“

 

“Your Templars don’t understand the Breach. They require a guiding hand, as do you.”

 

 _They are not_ my _Templars._

 

“I didn’t need your help last time.”

 

“Yes, and you almost died.”

 

“An unfortunate accident, sure to be remedied by the presence of so many experienced Templars.”

 

Solas flung his hands in the air, cool demeanor shattering. “You cannot simply bash your head against the Breach until it relents! This is beyond their skill.”

 

Her head hurt. _Hurt_ like a nail between her eyes. You could kill a man that way, she knew. Driving pain, piercing through flesh and bone and

 

 _Breathe_.

 

The pain was still there, and Solas glaring daggers through her flesh was not helping matters. A growl rose in her throat and she just barely strangled it, the noise escaping as a sharp exhale. Stepping forward was not something she remembered doing, but Ella reigned in her control as she started towards the elf, regaining her composure in a ripple of stone across her demeanor. _Truth?_ She pondered on that delicately. Solas was surely hiding something, but near everyone was. He probably wasn’t going to hurt her, no matter how much her addled senses insisted this was the case. _Half-truth, then._

 

“I am…” Not afraid, fear is the enemy, _I am never afraid._ “Concerned that the excess magic would attract the attention of unwanted guests.”

 

He took a half-step back, some of the anger draining from his face. Cole had told the truth, not that he had reason to lie. Solas certainly knew _something_ about the whole mess.

 

“Herald,” he began, and she almost snorted. He used titles, the same as herself, to stay apart. An apostate, most certainly, staying aloof and unattached just in case he needed to drop everything and run. “There will be more soldiers, this time. Certainly they can protect you.”

 

She kept her face from twisting, restricting herself to a polite smile. The soldiers couldn’t help with _him,_ that much she knew. Not unless they managed to kill her, and that didn’t seem likely. He was smart, he could play at being her for long enough. She kept her face from twisting, but the mark flared and she barely stifled a curse as it seared through her palm, sparking maddeningly.

 

“Herald?” His eyes darted to her palm and back to what she hoped was the pleasant demeanor of her face. Solas wasn’t stupid, unfortunately. She could see it in the flicker of his eyes, the ripple of his face when he was thinking, and he was always thinking. If The Iron Bull had not been Hisraad, had not been Ben Hassrath, then surely Solas would be a higher threat. A mage. A smart mage. The Chantry’s worst nightmare. Her palm flickered again, drawing a hiss from between clenched teeth. Solas’ mouth pursed into a grim line.

 

“They cannot reach you, at least not through the mark. The force would destroy them during transference.” His tone slowed, words picking their way down a treacherous slope. “An experienced mage could ensure it, however. I could mask your presence, in a way.”

 

He would not see her. She would be so bright but he wouldn’t see-

 

“Are you-“ She stopped herself, forced the hope and the breathless wonder from her voice as one draws poison from a wound. “Are you sure?”

 

“Reasonably so, yes.”

 

“But I’ll be so _bright_ , how-“ Caught it, stopped it, _get yourself in line_.

 

“Weaker spirits may be drawn to the Breach, but they will be destroyed by the force of the mark and the suppression of the Templars. I can attempt to disperse your magic so that anything large enough to get through would not be able to detect it over their own presence.”

 

It sounded like a miracle, like a damn deus ex machina. Too good to be true. _There’s no such thing as a free kindness._ She wouldn’t question it, though. Couldn’t, without her words tumbling out like rocks in an avalanche. Her mark flickered once more, but the pain was less. At this point, she’d take what she could get.

 

“Alright,” said Ella with a nod.

 

“Then you will allow me to-“

 

“Yes. Do your magic shit just… keep me hidden.”

 

“Very well.”

 

And that was it. He was off to do whatever it was that Solas did and she was off towards the Chantry to hopefully ward off an ‘I told you so’ from the Spymaster and a ‘How dare you’ from the Commander. Both should be fun.

 

With that exciting prospect in mind, it really wasn’t surprising that her feet dragged her in the opposite direction. What was surprising was that she ended up at the stables, with the horse that was supposed to be hers but she was planning on leaving behind. She’d tried to drag pets through the wilderness before, and it never ended well.

 

The horse, which she’d been informed was a Ferelden Forder, was alarmingly affectionate for a war mount. The chestnut nuzzled everything in reach, mouthing at her hair when she got too close and her fingers when she tried to shove him away.

 

It. It away.

 

Ah shit.

 

The familiar groan of wood alerted her to The Iron Bull. “I thought you said you’re not supposed to get attached.”

 

Ah _shit_.

 

“It just likes attention,” she said with an even voice and a practiced smile. “I’m trying to brush it down but he keeps nuzzling me.”

 

“He just likes _you_. He doesn’t rub against anyone else like that.”

 

“I never even see it,” she muttered, turning to face Bull, who had somehow slipped off the fence without a sound. That was… unnerving. “How could it like me?”

 

“You treat him right. You been around horses a lot?”

 

“It almost sounds like you’re prying.”  


“Me? Pry?”

 

“I used to. Be around horses, I mean.” She turned back to its mane, brush in hand. “Haven’t in a while, though.”

 

“Hmph. Gonna close the Breach, soon.”

 

Her hand stuttered before she stilled it. “That’s the plan.”

 

“They’re probably looking for you.” He said it gently, and she felt like it should have rankled her, made her feel infantilized but it didn’t. It just made her feel… tired.

  
“They can come find me, if they like. Besides-“ She glanced at the sky- “They need time to prepare. We aren’t marching up, yet.”

 

“Needed some time to yourself? With your horse?”

 

“I assumed that discretion would have been lesson number one in spy school.”

 

“Yeah, but with you it’s not like it would help. Might as well be up front.”

 

She couldn’t help being the slightest bit flattered. “I suppose.”

 

“You don’t have to answer.”

 

“That’s why I’m not answering.”

 

“Your hand’s on your dagger.”

 

She glanced down, and so it was. Ella forced both hands back to the task of brushing her… _the_ horse and ignoring the gentle way he… _it_ nuzzled at her neck.

 

“Do you plan on being there?” she asked absentmindedly.

 

“What, the Breach? For the closing ceremony or whatever?”

 

“Yes.”  


“Of course.” He put a little too much feeling into the words and it made her twitch. That almost felt like… a slip. His next words were brisk, more casual. “I’m your bodyguard, remember? Can’t have you climbing up another Pride demon.”

 

“ _Kaffas,_ has Teapot told _everyone_ about that? It was one time. _One time_.”

 

“Yeah, one time. One, hilarious time.”

 

“I assure you that nothing of the sort will be happening.”

 

“Aw, too bad. Sounds fucking badass.”

 

Ella sighed, stepping away from the horse and dropping the course brush into a box. “I suppose I should go to the Chantry, now.”

 

“No point in putting it off.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Do you want company?”

 

Ella turned to glance at him. He was playing open and honest, kind and unassuming. His stance said ‘no pressure’ and his eyes said ‘I won’t hurt you’ but Ella could do the same and mean none of it. Still, it was tempting. He was so large that eyes were naturally drawn to him, and in comparison she’d seem small and not quite worth noticing. No desperate prayers, no pleading eyes and cracking voices.

 

Fuck it. She’d be gone soon, anyway.

 

“Sure.”

 

He grinned at her in a manner that just managed not to seem triumphant and started off, taking wide and easy steps up the well-worn path, not seeming to pay the gawkers any mind. Ella followed in his shadow, head down, hood up, legs moving at a light jog to keep up with his gait. The anonymity was a balm, a brief respite from the piercing stare of a hundred eyes. Bliss.

 

Ella took his hand when the Chantry doors closed behind them.

 

“Thank you,” she muttered.

 

“Any time.”

 

She pulled away quickly, pulling back the hood. Long and assured steps, head held high, her Herald mask pulled tightly across her face.

 

It was time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It burned. Like ice and fire, the sharp crack of a whip and the dull hiss of a brand it _burned_.

 

Last time Ella had been half-unconscious, the lull of injury pulling at her mind and dulling all sensation. Last time the Breach had been so overbearing, so all-being, so everything and anything that she could barely feel the desperate pounding of her heart.

 

The Templars made it quiet. The magic made her loud. The pain was sharp and overwhelming.

 

_Breathe breathe breathe **breathe**_

 

Her lungs seemed to rattle, wracked with laborious breath as she struggled to gasp. The Breach crackled, and she couldn’t hold back a cry as her hand responded and she nearly fell to her knees, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes with the effort of staying upright.

 

 _No weakness, no fear._ She was not afraid. _I am not afraid._

 

The fabric of the world was shredded, here, little wisps of thread that drifted in a windless sky. She plucked at each individual strand, struggling to weave them back together with hands that shook and eyes that blurred at the _burning_ that seemed to sizzle and hiss through her veins and rip at her lungs as her legs shook and _everything hurts_ but-

 

_Breathe_

 

It had been worse, and _it will be better_. Soon.

 

The last thread fell into place, and she felt a guiding hand that she did not think on for the risk of breaking down but that she later knew to be Solas. A cool wash of magic that only exhausted her already depleted will and something _snapped_ shut and suddenly she was falling.

 

Someone caught her. There was cheering, people were happy and so she needed to be happy too because _have to blend in, can’t stand out, safety in the shadows._ She struggled briefly against weights that weren’t there but felt real before admitting a weary defeat and sinking into arms that seemed much more comfortable than anything else at that moment. _The shadows can suck it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how magic works so this is all made up. Yay
> 
> Wow, what a lovely journey. Breach vanquished, the end. They all lived happily ever after.


	19. What Goes Up

When Ella awoke, she was warm and comfortable. An ache or two, perhaps, but better than she had felt in a long while. That Between amidst sleep and the waking world soothed her senses and led her to curl in upon herself, under the soft warm of the blankets.

 

 _Wrong_.

 

She started forward, sitting up with eyes wide open, as she tried to find her bearings in a world that insisted on spinning. A hand pressed at her shoulder, pushing her down so that she lay flat once more, eyes still wide.

 

“Relax, boss. They just patched you up.”

 

“Why are you here?” Her voice was hoarse and her throat raw, like she had been screaming. Her head still swam with weariness and she shut her eyes tight before forcing them open again. The world refused to clear.

 

“Carried you down. Was just leaving, actually.”

 

“Wonderful,” she muttered, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I was unconscious?”

 

“A little. Solas said it was to be expected, rush of magic or some crap.”

 

“Is the Breach…” _No fear_. She reigned in her voice, forced the uncertainty to a professional interest. “Is the Breach closed?”

 

“Solas seems to think so, yeah.”

 

“That’s…” A breathy laughed escaped her and she winced at a twinge in her palm. “Good.”

 

“Good,” he said with a mild exasperation. “Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty fucking good boss.”

 

“Where is everyone?”

 

“Celebrating, probably. That thing has been hanging over their heads for a while.”

 

“Hilarious, as always.”

 

“Hey, I aim to please.”

 

“You should join them.” Ella threw the blankets from her person and gingerly swiveled to rest her feet on the floor. The Iron Bull tilted his head, the action accented by his horns.

 

“You coming too, boss?”

 

“I…” She pressed a foot down, relieved to find that it did not hurt as much as she would have expected. The hurt must not have been of a physical kind and… there went the relief. “I suppose a couple of drinks couldn’t hurt.”

 

“Are you coming, boss?” Sharper, that time. Ella glanced up but found that she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. _Sentimental._

 

“It’s not really your business, qunari.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look, you want to run? Run. But don’t dick around about it.”

 

“I haven’t the slightest inkling of-“

 

“Don’t fuck with me, boss. You’re not fooling anyone.”

 

“If you are implying that-“

 

“I’m not ‘implying’. We aren’t dancing, alright? This is me, The Iron Bull, telling you, the boss, that if you’re running away you should at least do it honestly.”

 

“You have no _right_ ,” she hissed, hands clenched at her sides as she stumbled to her feet. Then the stillness, the composition, the _don’t let them see the_ \- “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

 

“I’m not asking- you are so fucking-“ He sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I am not judging you. _No one_ is judging you. You have a right to leave. Breach is closed, and I’m hoping that you’re not the kind of person who’d just leave those rifts open to spit out demons and shit. Just like I’m hoping that you’re not the kind of person who could just _leave_ without at least one last drink. Not without some regret, at least.”

 

The anger lost direction, and Ella felt it fall away. He was right, and that was the infuriating thing. She had grown attached against her best interests, and now she needed to carve the Inquisition from herself so she could finally walk free. A drink wouldn’t hurt. _Couldn’t_ hurt, right?

 

“Just tonight. Just a drink,” she said softly. There was a quirk at the corner of his mouth as if he couldn’t help a smile.

 

Alarm bells. First fake, in her mind, because if she didn’t play this safe and close to her chest than she would never be able to cut them off. She shoved those in a box, because it was something she already knew, and was familiar with. _I know my job_.

 

Then real. Clattering against the ears and she tried to push them into a box but they just kept coming, and her eyes met Bull’s for just a moment, her confusion on the brink of swift action mirrored in his face, a teetering moment where time hung on a thread before it snapped under the weight of reality and suddenly the world was chaos.

 

Knives and belts and boots and gloves and a cloak over the mess, barely noticing when Bull helped and hardly caring how easily he was able to assist without quite interfering as people started to scream outside. Both pushed out the door to a bustling panic, with people running and rallying and Cullen already shouting orders, already on his way to the gates.

 

“Forces coming over the hills.”

 

“Under what banner?”

 

“None.”

 

“ _None?_ ”

 

A thousand pinpricks of light on the hills, like stars but not quite because _red hot burning_ and Ella almost fell apart. A hand on her back and she _breathed_ , steadied herself and drew the mask tight. She needed to be the Herald, and so she held her head high and tried her damnest to keep her face from twisting as she took quick but measured steps towards Cullen.

 

“What’s the plan, Commander?” she asked, tone light and airy as if she had asked him the time of day. He turned to her with a stoic demeanor excepting a wrinkle in his nose.

 

“Haven is no fortress. We cannot sustain a siege, so we must go on the offensive. There are trebuchets at key areas around the-“

 

A struggle outside the gates: magic, Ella could almost _smell_ it. Impacts, muffled explosions, and then silence.

 

“If someone could open this I’d appreciate it!”

 

That accent was Tevinter. _Highborn_ Tevinter. Ella’s mask slipped, but she managed to catch it just as her face began to crumple in on itself, fastening it back even tighter than before. With a glance at Cullen, who seemed just as confused as her, she sighed, stalked forward, and threw open the glorified plywood that currently constituted the gates of Haven.

 

He looked young, handsome, and _exhausted_. Tattered and fraying at the edges as he leaned against his staff, bodies of his foes scattered about him. _Impressive_ , was her first thought. Her second was quickly swept away in an unrelenting torrent of confusing and often conflicting emotion that threatened to overwhelm her mind. She could barely listen, nonetheless speak as the man struggled forth with his belated warning.

 

 _Dorian Pavus_. She must have heard such a name before. _Pavus_ , certainly. Not a Laetan, then, and the magic ruled out Soporati. For some reason she doubted that a Magister would wander this far from his estate. Altus. A _fucking Altus_. There was a hand at her back again, and she couldn’t help but lean into it. No one seemed to notice, which was a small blessing. When Pavus pointed, Ella’s eyes followed out of reflex as her mind pounced upon yet another name she recognized.

 

“Calpernia?’ Ella muttered, not quite meaning to. The vint’s eyes flashed to hers, and she just barely resisted a shudder.

 

“You know her?”

 

“Not important.” _Put it in a box and-_

 

She couldn’t quite remember where she had heard the name, but she was certain the knowledge would not help them.

 

“Mages. _Venatori._ ” Ella nearly spat the word, and Pavus crooked a brow.

 

“I see you are familiar with-“

 

“More coming,” said Bull from behind her, shifting to loose his battle-axe. Ella nodded, breath escaping her in heavy gasps as she unsheathed her daggers and twirled them expertly in her hand for no reason other than that she just needed to do _something_ even if it was so useless and-

 

 _Herald. You are the Herald._ “Cullen, have the men load the trebuchets. I’ll cover them with Bull and-“ her eyes sought out who might be closest “-Cassandra. And Vivienne. Solas will provide cover for the soldiers at the trebuchet. Mages need to provide cover for skirmishers. Templars in a defensive perimeter around Haven, with a few at each trebuchet.”

 

Pavus lurched forward, and Ella just _knew_ he was about to raise some objection even though the man was clearly spent. _Fucking Altus._ She whipped around to face him, eyes narrowed and not entirely focused on his face because there was a sort of breaking point for her when it came to vints and she figured it would not be wise to test that limit with an army at their doorstep.

 

“You. Can you heal?”

 

He blinked bemusedly before answering. “I have a rudimentary understanding of-“

 

“What’s your specialization?”

 

“I specialize in the arcane-“

 

“One word.”

 

“Necromancy,” he said, crossing his arms. Ella felt her eye twitch.

 

“Great… that’s just…. Rudimentary understanding you said?”

 

“I don’t-“

 

“Stay back. Help the civilians get to the Chantry.”

 

And there he went, being as predictably dramatic as once might expect and surging forward with a hand at his hip, the other adjusting the grip of his staff. The man drew his face into a haughty front of superiority that Ella had often seen before, and she chose not to let him speak, instead drawing her dagger between them.

 

“This is not Tevinter. And those are not Northern Templars. I don’t know you, and I most certainly don’t trust you. So _cover the civilians_ and _stay_ in the _Chantry_ when they’re all inside, with the knowledge that if you make a false move I will not hesitate to strike you down.”

 

Ella saw the beginnings of a sneer on his face, but he held it back in favor of a raised chin and a cocky smile. “Hah! I’d like to see you try.”

 

Red threatened the edges of her vision and blood pounded against her ears as she shifted forward, daggers twisting in her hands and the mage’s eyes widening a fraction as he took a step back. A hand fell on her wrist, forcing her blade down, and Ella whirled around to snarl at Bull.

 

“Boss. We got forces incoming. Now isn’t the time.”

 

“Did you hear what he-“

 

“Did you hear what I said? Mages. Coming. Right now.”

 

“I am going to-“

 

“Fight.”

 

“But-“

 

“ _Now_ , boss.” With that he practically flung her forward, and she stumbled a pace or two before relenting with a frustrated growl. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a weary, thoroughly confused Pavus and she pointed at him with a dagger.

 

“Help them fall back.” He gave her a terse nod before limping into Haven, leaning heavily on his staff. Ella almost rolled her eyes; fucking vints and their dramatics. He couldn’t even _walk_.

 

She didn’t spare it much thought before a fireball blossomed in the distance and she darted to the side, barely avoiding it. Another streak of light disintegrated in a brilliant flash against a barrier, and behind her she heard Solas shift, staff humming in his hands. Over the ridge Ella could barely make out movement in the darkness, a stirring of shadows as the onslaught reared before them, the crest of a wave that came crashing down on Haven with little ceremony.

 

Behind her Cullen rallied the men, gave orders, served as a beacon of stability in the writhing tide of battle. Ella silently thanked him for that; she would not be able to fulfill that role and fight at the same time. A steadying breath and she leapt forward, blades bare and lip curled up into a snarl.

 

Her first target was an errant spellcaster who had wandered close enough to pass the barriers woven in the sky. Close enough for Ella to _stick to the shadows_ , encircle and approach him from behind. He noticed her too late, and she dodged a clumsy swing of his staff before sinking her dagger in his throat, ripping it free with a hideous squelch and an errant spurt of crimson as the body fell.

 

_One down. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand to go, right?_

 

Ducking a blade and sidestepping the deadly glimmer of an axe as two men approached her in an attempt to flank, Ella caught the next swordfall with the edge of her dagger, wrenching it out of reach before lunging forward and drawing both blades across his throat in a flourish, twisting around the body as it fell and pushing it towards the axe-wielding brute as he brought down another blow. The axe dug itself in the dying man, flesh and blood sucking at the metal as he struggled to free it for perhaps half a second before Ella’s dagger found his throat and, consequently, tore through it with no more ceremony than futile attempt at a scream that was the gurgle of blood in his mouth.

 

A sickening crunch of bone and Ella saw Bull strike down a mage with his obscenely large axe.

 

“I’m at five. You?” he called with a blood-spattered grin. She returned the smile, eyes darting towards a figure lurking behind him, the glint of drawn steel in its hands.

 

“Three,” she replied, shaking out a blade before sprinting towards him. “But it’s about to be four; take a knee.”

 

The fact that he did as she asked with no hesitation was surprising, but she shoved that shock into a box to be examined later. All that mattered in this moment was the pounding of her feet against the ground, the whistle of her daggers through the air, and her foe who too late saw her intention. Ella leapt as she neared Bull, using his knee as a springboard to launch her over the qunari and onto his assailant, kicking the man’s weapon away and jamming a dagger into his skull in one fell motion, dragging him to the ground as she landed in a low crouch. Bull rose slowly, good eye roaming the field.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

The sharp hiss of magefire had them spinning into action once more, a bloody trail of bodies soon strewn across Haven’s doorstep in their desperate attempt to hold against the onslaught. Ella soon lost herself in the fog of battle, twisting in and out of the fray with a lifetime’s ease and trusting her time-sharpened senses to guide her in claiming life after life after life.

 

Still, it was not enough. The enemy was too many, and Haven too exposed. They were forced to retreat one agonizing step at a time, until their backs were nearly pressed against Haven’s gate. Even as they fought behind them the town was being swarmed. The trebuchet stopped firing, and Ella rallied weary troops to retake it, a mage who took her distraction as an opportunity finding his head cleaved in two by Bull’s axe. Ella started as blast of ice grazed her cheek, glancing up to see Bull rushing past her to the trebuchet.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

One debt settled, then.

 

The trebuchet was overrun, and Ella nearly died several times in the desperate bid to retake it. Then the struggle to _keep_ the damned thing as it was prepped, endless waves upon waves of nameless faces that sought her life and instead found their deaths. Her hand was slick with blood, and she could feel dry crusts of brown hardening in the cracks and pores of her face. Still they came. Still they fell.

 

Stillness, when the stone was launched. A breathless pause before it tumbled into a cliff and for one horrid moment Ella thought they had missed. Failed. A weight in her stomach, on her lungs like drowning but then the avalanche started and-

 

So many lives, wasted. Extinguished like the torches that flickered out in the deadly flurry of snow and ice. _Better them than you_. It had always been that way.

 

A ragged cheer arose among those men who survived, hoarse and battle-worn but still standing. Ella’s eyes met Bull’s, and she couldn’t help but return his grin. Couldn’t help but see the way it fell. The way his eye left her face, the way his expression twisted into slow, dawning horror.

 

Time slowed, and she saw the fire take the trebuchet. Fire that wasn’t fire; sick and putrid, festering with corruption. Saw it near her, threaten to overtake her as her body reacted _too slow too slow_ -

 

A hand grabbed the back of her armor and wrenched her out of harms way. She could feel the heat on her face, see the sickly embers in the fire’s wake but she was… the hand was still at her neck, and she glanced up to see Bull.

 

She had almost died. She had almost died and Bull had _come closer to the fire_ in order to save her. To pull her out of the way. _My fault my fault my-_

 

“Boss.” He spoke intently, and she managed to focus on his face. “No problem.”

 

_No…_

 

“No problem,” she echoed, albeit shakily. With a grim smile he clapped her on the back before turning to glance at the _motherfucking dragon._

 

“I think we’re fucked.”

 

Ella managed a hollow laugh. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

 

“Boss, I think we’re _fucked_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't particularly well edited, but I was tired of staring at it. Sorry for any glaring errors.
> 
> Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and so on.


	20. Against the Sea of Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no see! Sorry about the lateness; this chapter gave me a lot of trouble.

They made their way to the gates, dodging bouts of magefire and blasts of ice and lightning as Bull kicked open a door for the smith and they hurried past the stables, the horse bucking and whinnying in its paddock.

 

The horse.

 

Fuck fuck _fuck_

 

_Stupid sentimental piece of-_ Ella ran to the paddock and threw open the gate – _you knew this would happen it always happens to idiot why are you_ \- thrusting a hand through the reigns she ignored the way the leather bit and bled into her hand as Nuzzle started to bolt – _you named it you actually named it I can’t believe_ \- forced his head down, with sheer will she bullied him into following and he, being the war mount he was, obeyed after a moment of frenzied hesitation – _risking everything for a horse are you insane how_ -

 

She ran a hand through Nuzzle’s mane, forcing herself to calm as she stared into a too-wide eye. In a fluid motion she found herself on his back, sitting straight and proud astride the chestnut even as The Iron Bull shot her a questioning and mildly amused look.

 

Urging Nuzzle to a gallop she loosed a throwing knife and flung it towards a mage, catching him in the neck and felling him mid-gesture. Another found a dagger in her ribs as she raised her staff, stumbling to the ground with robes stained crimson. A few strides brought Ella through the gate where she drew back the reigns and brought Nuzzle to a skittering halt next to Cullen. Behind her the remains of their army filtered through, panicked farmers turned soldiers dragging screaming wounded through the gate as Cullen urged them on, finally ordering it closed and barred as soon as it seemed that everyone had made it through. Not that it mattered.

 

All around her Ella could hear the sounds of war, the discordant melody of battle that jarred the senses and threw all into disarray. It hummed and tugged at the back of her mind alongside the tenuous yet never ending thrum of red lyrium. She could hear wood groaning and snapping under the sheer force of wave upon wave of the enemy, could smell the salt of sweat and taste the metal tang of blood on her tongue. Her grip on the reigns began to slip, and she caught herself. Her grip on her focus began to slip, and she almost fell.

 

“Herald?”

 

Her eyes met Cullen’s, she saw him standing strong against the impossible odds, wavering only when she herself seemed uncertain. She was their leader now, dammit. Their fucking Herald. Deep within she stretched her focus taught, painfully forced her limbs into swift assured movements as she drew a mask of surety across her face.

 

“What’s the situation?” Not the slightest tremor in her voice.

 

“Not good,” he said grimly. “Any time you might have gained us-“

 

“Lost to the dragon, yeah.” She pressed the heel of one hand into her forehead, the other tightening its grip on the reigns. “Defensible position?”

 

“The Chantry should be able to hold against that beast, but only for as long as we can defend it.”

 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it, just make sure everyone gets to the Chantry. I’ll meet you there.”

 

His answer was a brisk nod and suddenly he was off, barking orders and rallying men. Ella glanced about, seeing that Bull, Cassandra, and Vivienne were still with her and gesturing for them to follow.

 

Ella had never liked fighting on horseback; she’d always felt a sort of nervous anger at being forced to rely on something else, at losing control over the few things she had left. Still, she made the best of a bad situation, using her height to survey the sad excuse for a battlefield and nudging Nuzzle to leap over any obstacles that might be in her way. She needed to be a beacon, something for people to look towards and find hope, because Ella knew too well that oftentimes the only thing that kept you alive and fighting to stay that way was hope. Poisonous, treacherous hope.

 

She didn’t want to waste her throwing knives on hopeless targets and there wasn’t a particularly plausible method of stabbing from horseback, and as such few found themselves at the end of her daggers. Occasionally Ella would actually stand and leap from Nuzzle, burying her blades deep into some spell caster’s neck before rolling off the falling body and grabbing the reins to hoist herself back into the saddle once more, so to speak. Nuzzle wasn’t actually wearing a saddle; it made things a little more difficult, but she managed.

 

They saved everyone they could, but every step through Haven was a struggle against an endless mob of red-tinged monstrosities. It was impossible to predict from where the next blow would fall, and though Vivienne’s barriers helped they were not foolproof. Cassandra caught a fireball to the side, her armor deflecting the brunt of the blow but her stifled cry and the unmistakable stench of smoldering flesh left Ella spitting with rage, barely hearing Bull’s curse as she leapt from Nuzzle’s back once more, taking to long strides before loosing a dagger, turning only when she heard the gurgling slump of a downed foe.

 

She slid to a now kneeling Cassandra, pressing a hand against the festering wound as Bull knocked away a blast of lightning with the Seeker’s dropped shield.

 

“I am fine. You must go, I will-“

 

“Catch up?” Ella shook her head fiercely, sliding an arm under Cassandra’s shoulders and lifting her to her feet. “You’ve done enough already, and it’s high time I walked; take Nuzzle.”

 

“…Nuzzle?”

 

“She means the horse.” Bull grunted as he ripped his axe free from yet another body. _They just keep coming_. “The horse with no name who apparently had a name all along.”

 

“Are you _joking_?” Ella scowled as she helped a limping Cassandra onto the horse. “ _Now?_ ”

 

“Though it is infinitely amusing, I would appreciate it if you two stopped bickering like a married couple.”

 

“Sorry ma’am.”

 

“I thought her name was Viv?”

 

“ _Herald_.”

 

“…sorry ma’am.”

 

  
Ella walked through the Chantry doors dragging a bloodied Threnn with one hand and leading a wild-eyed Nuzzle with the other, the click of the horse’s hooves on the cold stone floor echoing eerily through the empty ceilings and the near silent prayers as survivors clutched at each other and muttered quiet platitudes. Cassandra slumped in the saddle, beginning to sway just as the door slammed shut behind them, frantic hands heaving anything and everything to bar the iron wrought wood. Already Ella’s keen ears caught the scrape and slam of the enemy working its way inside.

 

_We’re going to die._

 

She didn’t really see Roderick fall –her eyes weren’t quite in focus, and everything slower than a battle’s pace seemed blurry- but she did see how the ‘vint caught him mid-stumble. Ella stiffened as they neared, and relaxed by increments as the mage dragged Roderick to a nearby wall.

 

“He’s a brave man. He stood against the Venatori.”

 

“Briefly. I am no Templar.”

 

Ella pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, forcing the world into focus once more. “Have there been any demands?” Her voice sounded hoarse and ragged. She did not like it, and tried to swallow it away.

 

“No,” said Cullen. “They haven’t issued demands or terms for surrender.”

 

“Perfect,” Ella muttered, scratching at a wrist for a few seconds before she could force herself to stop.

 

“There’s no bargaining with the mages either,” offered the ‘vint helpfully. “This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gather in Redcliffe, it marched all this way to take your Herald.”

 

Ella might have screamed. Fortunately she’d learned that such a reaction was often futile. So instead she stood, still and silent, stared holes into the wooden pillars holding up those high vaulted ceilings where nothing roamed but unanswered prayers and the pleas of the condemned. Of those that _she_ had condemned. _Again and again and again and again and-_

 

“He was never going to stop; would have just found something else. This isn’t Falerius. This isn’t like that.” Though she didn’t turn to look, there was no mistaking Cole’s soft voice. “Envy wasn’t right. _Screams that aren’t mine but should be_. Their hurts were not yours, are not yours. Not your fault.”

 

No one paid him any mind, and Ella suspected that they could neither see nor hear the boy, which was a relief. She didn’t want anyone knowing about _that_. Still, the words settled something in her chest, lifted a sort of tension from her gut that left her free to speak once more.

 

“If he wants me then he can have me.”

 

“Herald I-“

 

“Ella are you seri-“

 

“ _Boss_ don’t be a-“

 

“It’s not like I’m worth much now, anyway,” Ella continued, heedless of their words. Her own voice seemed distant and cold, calculated as it usually was when she needed to separate herself from the cause and cost. “The Breach has been closed, and that was the major threat. We have talented mages, I’m sure the Rifts can be sealed through some other means.”

 

“You are not a thing, boss.”

 

She looked at Bull quizzically. “I never said-“

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

“Whatever the case.” The ‘vint cut in, voice a haughty drawl that naturally grated on her nerves. “I don’t think it will matter. This ‘Elder One’ is merciless; I doubt he’ll leave survivors either way.”

 

_We’re going to_ die _._

 

“There must be something,” Ella growled, hand reaching for her wrist once more. “There’s _always_ something.”

 

“That avalanche was the only thing that seemed to slow them down,” said Cullen. Ella felt her expression turn the slightest bit feral, but at this point couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it.

 

“Then we’ll make another one. Bury them all.”

 

“We’d bury Haven as well, but…” said Cullen slowly. “At least we can choose where and how we die.” Ella nodded, furiously scratching at her wrist, nails biting into old scars, cutting at gnarled ridges. Pavus started forward, mustache quivering.

 

“No, that is _unacceptable_. As fitting an end as it might be, I did not come all this way just to be suffocated under the weight of a collapsing Chantry.” A sharp pain, and Ella knew that she had drawn blood; warm and heavy, beading along her palm and swelling at her fingers and-  
  
“ _All this way_ ,” she snarled. “ _You_ came all this way? From where, if I may be so bold? Oh dear, the poor little Altus, walked _all this way_ from daddy’s estate. Left behind a life of comfort, hm? I’m sure it must have been _so difficult_ for you. Well, here’s something they don’t teach you in the Minrathous _fucking_ Circle: _life doesn’t owe you shit_. It doesn’t care about your _fancy titles_ and it certainly doesn’t care how far you walked to fall face first into your grave. At least you’ll _have_ a grave. All this fucking way, just to die. I never even got the collar off. I was so _fucking_ close but I never-“

 

Her hand bumped against his chest. She’d backed him against a wall, and yet she couldn’t recall having neared him in the first place. _Breathe_.

 

She did. Forced herself to _don’t turn your back don’t_ turn her back on him, to rip the helpless anger from her body like gangrenous flesh. “I apologize. That was unnecessary.” The words were cotton in her mouth. Her face was still all twisted, and she couldn’t seem to smooth it shut. All of them glanced at each other, like they were in on something. It made her want to bristle, but she forced herself to do the opposite. Varric took half a step forward.

 

“Hey Dancer, is everything all right in-“

 

“ _Don’t_.” No, that was not right, with the hissing and the spitting. Ella tried again. “Please don’t call me that. Not now.” She managed to pull her lip up into what might have been a smirk. “But that’s a rather odd question. _Is everything all right_. I think you know the answer.”

 

Varric was not convinced by her delicate veneer of… what? Sarcasm? Fatalistic bravery? “Yeah, but-“

 

“No buts. The sisters should circulate, try to comfort people. We’ll need a team to load and fire the trebuchet. At the very least we’ll take half of them with us.”

 

“No.” Roderick staggered to his feet and Ella groaned.

 

“Chancellor, we don’t have time to argue in circles-“

 

“There… there is a path.”

 

And suddenly he had her undivided attention. “A path?”

 

“Yes. You wouldn’t know it… I’m the only one left. I… it can’t be a coincidence-“

 

“Could you lead them?”

 

“I am… yes.”

 

“Well then.” Ella’s smile came that much more easily as she allowed herself a huff of laughter. “That settles that, I suppose.” _They won’t die for me_. “But we’ll need a proper sending off for our good friend out there. A last avalanche sounds lovely, just about now.”

 

“I’m sure I could gather a few volunteers to-“ began Cullen, but Ella cut him off.

 

“He’s obsessed with _me_ , is he not? I say we give him what he came for.”

 

“Boss, don’t tell me you think you can take that bastard down alone.”

 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I can take care of myself.” She turned to Roderick. “Lead them away from here, and quickly. Cullen, have the soldiers cover the retreat. We might need scouts to search ahead, so Leliana you should-“

 

“What of your retreat?” asked Cullen. Ella looked at him, really _looked_ at him, and saw both awe and denial. She couldn’t quite understand it; she was rather sure that she looked no different than usual. There was nothing to be said, really, so Ella just gave him a grim smile and set about rearranging her daggers.

 

“…Perhaps you will surprise it? Find a way?”

 

“Perhaps,” she said, and that was that.

 

Or not, it seemed, as several of the people who were now apparently her friends seemed adamant about accompanying her. _I die alone, on my own terms, not dragging others into the abyss with me._

 

“If you can’t load the trebuchet, boss, then we all die.”

 

“I can do it, Bull. Worry about yourself.”

 

“Herald you can’t be serious-“

 

“Cassandra _you_ can’t be serious, you can barely walk for fuck’s sake.”

 

“At least let us cover you or _something_.”

 

“And stand within the range of the avalanche? Don’t be an idiot, Varric. Or you, Sera,” she added when the elf began to brandish an arrow. “Honestly. I did the job I came to do. I’ve nothing else to offer but this, really.”

 

A hand clapped on her shoulder, and she sighed while refusing to look Bull in the eye.

 

“Bull, there is nothing you can say that is going to-“

 

“Just… try to stay alive boss. Pull some miracle out of your ass again.”

 

“I…” She didn’t want to. All debts were paid now that the Breach was closed, and though she still wore a collar around her neck she didn’t _feel_ a slave, not with the walls crumbling around them and the people begging her to stay safe. In truth, there would be no better way to die. “I will. Try, that is.”

 

His hand squeezed her shoulder almost imperceptibly before he walked away, gathering the Chargers around him, and the skin where his hand had been felt cold, for some reason. She shook away that feeling as well as the remainder of people-who-might-be-friends in the next minute or so, finally walking with a confidence she wasn’t sure she felt towards the Chantry doors.

 

“Into the shadows,” she muttered, closing her eyes briefly before pushing forth against the tide of red song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a doozy. Also, here's a disclaimer: I love Dorian, he's one of my favorite characters. This isn't a Dorian hate-fic or some shit like that, Ella's just got her own issues, and this is mostly from her perspective.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and feel free to drop a kudos or a comment! They are always super appreciated.


	21. Strings of Red

Wading through Haven was, perhaps, the most difficult thing she had ever done. Couldn’t stay long, had to keep moving, _keep moving_ because she couldn’t be bogged down, there was _no time no time no time-_

 

And everywhere there was the song, thick on the air and making it difficult to _breathe,_ nonetheless actually think straight always soothing at her ears _just lay down, sleep sleep sleep that’s all there is now, little one_ but she was not weak _I am not weak_.

 

A mage crunched across the snow, away from the others, blocking her path through the alleyways of Haven. He looked young, vulnerable, _lifeless_ and she didn’t want to _don’t think about it_ she couldn’t, she couldn’t do _so young I can’t_

 

She retrieved her dagger as he fell. Kept moving. _Keep moving._

 

Puppets held up by strings of red, they tried to catch her too but she was quick, she was strong, she was _I will not fall I will_ not _fall._

 

No more strings of red. Not today; not ever again.

 

Her blade sang its own melody, carved through broken flesh and rotting bone, leaving too-red ribbons of blood across the snow, across her skin. She managed to avoid the bulk of them, but still she left a path of bodies behind her, and there was _no time_ to hide them.

 

Finally she reached the trebuchet, cutting down the few who guarded it with a few easy swipes before throwing herself against the machine. _Tired, so tired_ , and every muscle screamed and popped but still she pushed and pushed until finally

 

She felt it before she heard it. A singing in her veins that seemed to _pull_ at her blood, pulsing beneath the skin before the flimsy barrier splintered and shattered with the deafening clatter of a thousand trees groaning in the wind. She managed to jump to the side just as a blast of lightning sizzled into the wood where she had been standing a moment before.

 

Standing, Ella twirled a dagger about her fingers before tossing it towards the mage, who deflected it easily before slamming her staff into the ground once more. _Battle-trained_ , she thought with a grimace, rolling away before the rune beneath her feet erupted in a gout of flame. Rolling away and _into_ a wave of force that shoved her against a nearby building with a sickening crack that hopefully wasn’t anything important. A grunt and Ella was up again, teeth bared at the mage while adjusted the grip on her daggers. This was time she didn’t have, time that her _friends_ needed. They were depending on her, oh _fuck_ they needed her to do this or they would die, her fault her _fault_.

 

The mark shuddered in her hand, and Ella forced her snarl of pain into a grin. She needed to let them see her, let him see her. This ‘Elder One’. Otherwise all of this would be for nothing.

 

As she stood Ella felt the crackle of magic in her palm, the wisps of static that trembled through her arm and when she flicked a dagger towards the caster the green light fractured into a thousand fragments of the Fade, a blinding flash that danced across the red in a dazzling display of color. The mage raised a barrier, and the dagger clattered to the stone. A sickening squelch and the mage gasped, a knife in her back as Ella stood, panting, behind her. She fell, and Ella ripped the blade from her flesh dripping with too-red blood.

 

 _The trebuchet_. She stumbled towards it, a hand pressed against her ribs. Wings, beating against the festering air. _Shit_. She tried to run, to dodge or hide or _something_ but it was just too large, to powerful. _Can’t let it hit the trebuchet_.

 

The spray of blighted fire nearly hit her instead, but that was of no consequence.

 

The dragon landed with the ease and grace of a cat on the prowl, and as she struggled to her feet Ella was struck with the sickening thought that she was its prey.

 

And there, out of the fire like some twisted nightmare was the Elder One. Skin tattered and tainted by the lyrium’s touch, face stretched and scared so that it was a horrifying mockery of what humanity should be. Ella would not cower. She stood, hissing through clenched teeth at the pain but determined to face her newfound foe.

 

“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” He spoke to her as one might a child. Ella bristled, reaching for her daggers but finding that they weren’t there anymore, flung off to the side at some point of another. She settled for a vicious growl.

 

“Do you think you scare me, shitface?” she snarled. Something about this was unsettling. Well, more unsettling than it should be, at any rate. “I am not afraid.”

 

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.” It strode forward, and Ella willed herself not to back down. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the _will_ that is Corypheus.”

 

 _A Tevene name. That’s a_ Tevene _name._

 

“You will kneel.” She felt… like she had to. It was an order, and orders were to be obeyed. Consequences, always consequences, always _my fault my fault_ and _walls_ _closing_ _in_ , _suffocating, please I can’t_ breathing deep and shallow because the collar, the _collar_ couldn’t be defeated. Her knees began to buckle. _You are not a thing_. Bull’s voice.

 

 _Never again_.

 

“I will die first.” Clenched teeth, clenched fists, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as she faced down an amalgamation of nightmares, a creature who now simply regarded her as one might a lowly animal.

 

“That is likely, yes. It is of no consequence. I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

 

Something she hadn’t noticed before, an orb in his hand, began to sputter with sickly red energy, wreathed in coils of writhing smoke that sizzled as he thrust it forth.

 

“It’s your fault, ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.”

 

Knives. Hot knives _burning twisting flesh black and dry_.

 

I do not know how you survived. But what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

 

The mark, the stupid _fucking_ mark sizzled and sparked. Her palm burned and then grew heavy; lead beading in the creases of her hand; quicksilver pulsing through her veins and up her arm; forcing her down, down to her knees _I will not kneel_ but she did, she did in the end, she _always_ did.

 

“And you, a _slave_ , used the Anchor to undo my work. The _gall_.”

 

Ripples in the Fade, so strong that she could feel it itch and throb just below her skin and-

 

No. No no _no_ no _no **no**_ **.** Never again. Pain, chains, the ground hard against her knees _never again_. Scars deep and gnarled across her back, her neck, her wrists _never again_. Crying screaming beating on the walls with bloodied knuckles _never again_.

 

Never again would she let someone convince her that she was somehow less than human. _I am not a thing I am **not** a thing **I am not a thing**_

 

“Hubris isn’t really a good look for you.” She grinned through bloodstained teeth. “So kindly piss off and go play at godhood somewhere else. I won’t ask again.”

 

“There is no hubris to be had from that which does not exist.”

 

Words words words, pointless drabble with no meaning. All of her masters had talked this way. That was all he was, even as he lifted her from the ground as if she was nothing - _never again, never again will I be nothing_ – just a prick who hadn’t yet realized that _I will not break_.

 

She felt her ribs crack as the wood of the trebuchet splintered against her back. _Well, metaphorically anyway_.

 

“I will not suffer the insult that is my work soiled and squandered by one wearing a collar. You _must_ die.”

 

“You first bitch,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Now was the time; she would die fighting or not at all. She grabbed a dagger, hilt up in the scarlet snow, and forced herself to stand. Everything was red: the bodies, the ground, the _thing_ that now stood in front of her; the red seeped into her vision and she snarled, teeth bared and dagger poised for what would certainly be her first and final strike, given how pain and exhaustion weighed at her limbs.

 

A light in the corner of her eye. Ella caught the arc of an arrow, wreathed in flames as it soared through the air. They had made it. _Hope_. She glanced to the side, at the now readied lever that would, presumably, bury Haven. _Fuck_ , now she had hope.

 

She needed to help them, needed to bury this army so that her _friends_ , damn her, would survive.

 

 _Now would be the time for a witty one liner_. She kicked in the lever. _But I guess I’ll just make one up later for Varric’s book_.

 

Oh fuck it all to the Void she had promised Bull to try, and now she had _hope_. Could this day possible get any worse?

 

The impending avalanche rumbled in the distance, but Ella’s eyes were fixed upon Corypheus, who in turn only granted her an acrid glare before his pet dragon carried him aloft and away. The avalanche still thundered behind her. _Oh. Apparently it can_.

 

She had promised, she had _promised_ and hope bloomed and blossomed in her chest like heartburn. She needed to… to… to do _something,_ even if it only meant her life lasted but a moment longer. So she did what she was good at, and she ran.

 

Pain, but distant. Numbing cold. Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alllrighty. After this we'll probably get into more out of game stuff, which is more fun anyway. So... looking forward to that I guess! Sorry this chapter is super angsty but, to be fair, Ella's just pretty angsty in general. I guess angst's a guilty pleasure, what can you do?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! I really appreciate your comments and kudos, and I'll try to be better about replying!


	22. Full of Sound and Fury

Ella was drowning.

 

The realization was slow and dawning, but a realization nonetheless.

 

Little scraps of metal weighed her down as if they were ten times their size, and it seemed that the more she struggled the faster she fell, a faint light above shrinking into a single star. Darkness, all around, and shadows roaming at the edge of sight.

 

Water filled her lungs slowly but insistently, like sand in an hourglass. Like… water in a… a bowl? From a pitcher? That wasn’t slow. Whatever the case, it crushed her chest and swelled within her lungs with an unpleasantness that bordered on painful.

 

_Breathe breathe **breathe**_

 

 

 

 

Gasping, coughing, heaving; Ella awoke. Agony wracked her with every breath, lancing up her side in bursts of white-hot blindness whenever she moved.

 

 _Okay, okay. This is fine._ She bent one leg, and then the other, clenching her teeth through the pain. Around her all that could be seen was light fractured through ice and snow and the shattered remnants of wood. _Everything’s fine. Need to… need to compartmentalize. Assess the situation._

 

Her legs were battered, but they retained movement. Cuts and scrapes, pieces of wood jutting through flesh but she would still be able to walk, for a little while at least. That was a relief. Running was better, but walking would suffice.

 

Hips _ached_ , but though the pain was deep and bruising she didn’t feel a break or dislocation, which was also good. More scrapes, more punctured flesh, but nothing too serious.

 

Crawling tentatively up her chest and… well. Broken ribs, certainly. Unclear how many. That was going to hurt like a bitch, and she couldn’t very well… if a lung had been punctured… just fuck. Her breathing didn’t feel _that_ short, but she couldn’t be sure. Ella grimaced. She could just leave them be and risk damage to tissue, or she could bind them and face a possible lung collapse, followed by crippling pneumonia. Perfect. She resolved to decide later and moved up to her shoulders.

 

Thankfully nothing seemed dislocated, which in and of itself was a miracle. _Deep_ bruising, but she could handle that. Down her arms, wrist on her unmarked hand seemed broken or twisted, somehow, with a possible broken finger, and she didn’t dare yet venture into the marked hand.

 

Concussion, probably. She had been unconscious, but hopefully that was due to something else. The world seemed to spin and her head was pounding, but she’d be able to push through that.

 

 _Okay._ She made sure to breathe deeply, fighting to ignore the painful creak of her chest. The air bit at her throat, knives in her lungs. _It’s cold in here_.

 

Gingerly, and with much cursing, she scooted her way backwards until she could prop herself against a wall. Glancing down at her hands she found the skin had begun to pale, but from frostbite or blood loss she had no idea. _Probably the former_. Looking at her body she could tell that anything that would have caused loss of blood remained firmly lodged within her flesh. _Lovely._

 

She could walk with the wood in her leg, but not the way it jutted out. Balance would be off, and she’d be stumbling as it was. With a hand she didn’t have the strength to keep from shaking, Ella fumbled for a dagger, finally finding one about an arm’s length away from her. Well, a little more than an arm’s length. Her body screamed as she reached for the hilt, leaving her gasping through her teeth when she finally snapped back, dagger clutched within her hand. _Can’t afford the noise_.

 

Quickly, but with as much care as could be managed, Ella drew her leg towards her and examined the shard. Probably a piece of the trebuchet. Slicing through her upper leg, it was astounding that it hadn’t shredded muscle. Still, it could not remain in its unwieldy state, and Ella grasped one end and began to cut through the wood, each pass of the blade sending shivers of pain up her leg. Finally it broke off, and all that remained was a sheered bit of lumber jutting from her skin. The other side received the same treatment and, though there was still a piece of wood lodged within her leg, it didn’t jut out quite as clumsily. _Good. I can do this._

 

Anything smaller she was able to snap off, leaving shards of wood embedded in her flesh but leaving her with a freedom of movement that she would certainly need. Her head still pounded, and her vision swam as she shifted, trying to get to her feet. _Trying_ being the operative word.

 

Ribs screaming, head aching, muscle and flesh tearing as her bones moved in ways that certainly weren’t natural.

 

There was nothing for it. She was binding her _fucking_ ribs.

 

Somehow, with much clenching of teeth and labored breaths, Ella managed to unwind her breastband, unwilling to give up any more significant layer of protection from the elements. With careful fingers she pushed and prodded her ribs into place, desperately hoping that she hadn’t caused more damage in the process, before tightly winding the band about her waist. She tried moved again. This time the pain was bearable.

 

Standing was a thousand tongues of flame, hot iron on the skin that dragged and pressed but still she managed, tottering about on two legs like some collared circus bear. _Grim thoughts don’t help grim situations._ With a scowl Ella banished such thoughts from her mind and focused on lifting one leg, and then the other, and so on.

 

Ella nearly sobbed as her hand sputtered at her side, but she was stronger than that, _no weakness, no fear_. Pressing forward she saw the tattered edges of a rift seeping into the world, and she hastily stumbled backwards, planning to find another way around. Luck, it seemed, was feeling particularly ornery. Ella barely dragged her increasingly unresponsive body out of the way as the demon she just about turned into took a swipe at her. _Great. Just great_.

 

Before she could even begin to despair about the complete lack of plan forming within her pain-addled mind, the air began to hiss and shimmer, a faint mist of green fire dancing before her eyes and driving the demon back a wary step. The cold split with a resounding _crack_.

 

When Ella opened her eyes again she was alone. On one knee, arms pressed against her head to ward off some forgotten pain, she slowly looked about her to find that the demons and the rift were gone, and as she stood her hand stuttered and crackled like a fire. A fire fed by wet logs and damp bits of leaf litter, but a fire nonetheless.

 

 _I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for_ any _of this._

 

Hot fury blistered against the cold that had settled in her chest, and she shoved it down, down, down where it wouldn’t hurt her. Shoved it in a box and chained it to a wall before it burned her overmuch.

 

Walking was a dull litany of misery that bordered on torture; sharp pangs that forced the breath from her lungs when something inside her shifted, every step a pulse of agony that swelled against her skin, all accompanied by a deep-set ache that left lead in her limbs and made her want to collapse in a snow bank and never wake up.

 

_Sleep, sleep, sleep…_

 

But she was stronger than that. _Had_ to be. Her twisted pride would not let her believe otherwise; but was it truly her pride that had her trudging through the deep snow? Was it pride that faced her towards winds that lashed and gnawed at any exposed skin? Ella couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think so.

 

The snow was beautiful, in a way. Fresh and _so_ _cold, ice against the skin wind against the face kaffas if this is the last thing I feel before I die then so be it._ That had been enough, once. Were things so different now? Clearly, seeing as how a stumble was the greatest hardship, and to falter was a worse pain than the groaning of her ribs. Before, a grave under fresh-fallen snow had been enough. To _die free_ had been enough. And now, with the ruins of Haven behind, fighting through cold towards _nothing, there’s nothing left_ but _I don’t want to die_.

 

It was no longer enough to die free. What was enough, then?

 

 _Greedy, greedy._ What could sate her now, now that she had tasted what might have been freedom? _Greedy little slave._ But she wasn’t, not anymore. Not a slave, though the collar was still heavy on her neck and the scars ran deep across her flesh. Not a slave, but not quite free. What _was_ she? Some abomination, set loose to roam the land, shambling awkwardly through fields and under forests and over shifting snow banks. Perhaps she’d been a fool. Perhaps she’d never truly been free; just a tantalizing facsimile, a sideshow. A _spectacle._

 

That’s what they’d made her. A spectacle. _Forget, forget, forget_ , but no, there were some things that could not be scraped from the mind, no matter how hard she clawed deep furrows in her skull, beat fists bloody against the walls and _a spectacle_ , she didn’t deserve that, _no one deserves this_ , but if anyone did deserve it _it’s me, I deserve this._

 

She shouldn’t think about this. She _couldn’t_ think about this, but if she tore her mind away all that was left was the aching of her feet and the howling of the wind and the howling of the _wolves_ , the wolves, there were wolves. The cold dragged at her senses, and the monotony of white, white, more white all around _is this death?_ was enough to tug at her eyes and cloud her senses. So no, she couldn’t tear her mind away from

 

 _What am I?_ A specta- no. She _was_ , but not anymore. _I am not what they made me._ But it wasn’t just her, was it? _Faces blur together in the dim light, names are best forgotten. Now all is bright and I can see… what? Who? I knew them better in the dark, knew the sob-wracked voices, the shuddering breaths of those too scared to speak, too weak to speak, too tired to speak but starving for the presence of another._ She did not remember their names, still. The few faces she saw, those she remembered, but _names are best forgotten._

 

Had he recognized her? Her thoughts began to idle as she skirted the burnt out husk of a camp. Ashes cold, scattered, but had he recognized her? An Altus, purebred and pedigreed, well versed in gossip and scandal. Surely if he didn’t know her, he knew _of_ her. There had been no spark of   _he sees me, they see me run hide leave this place now_    on his face, but she had been greatly changed since then. Found her masks again and clung to them tightly, because the only way for her to be safe, truly safe, was to be someone else.

 

He had been to the house. Of that there was no doubt in her mind. Someone his age? Certainly young enough to, at the time, be enticed by the promise of something horrifying. Peeking through windows, giggling nervously, breathless at the thought of discovery but nonetheless sure that nothing would _actually_ happen to them. The hot rage, again, burning a hole through her stomach and she chained it up tighter. She wondered if any visited the house still. Probably, but likelier still the whole matter had been largely forgotten, swept beneath a gaudy rug, a local folk tale used to scare children from their dreams. Perhaps they still dared each other to walk farther along the hallway, but that was all that remained.

 

Still, he had not recognized her. That was good. She smiled –more of a grimace than anything else- and felt her leg give way beneath her. Here she was, thinking of the fraud-ridden future while she slowly lost her fingers to frostbite. With a huff swallowed up by the winds she forced herself to _keep moving_ , to limp and shuffle along like a wounded animal. The snow was growing shallower, and though dimly she knew this to be good the hope was just a dull flicker in her mind. What came after ‘good’, anyway? So there was less snow.

 

 _Where am I going?_ What a question. She hadn’t even answered _what am I_ and now she was at _where am I going_. One thing at a time. What was it Bull had said? _You are not a thing_. Well, that was what she was not. _What am I?_ She pursed her lips. Bringing Bull into this… it made her skin itch and burn, more so than it had under the relentless tug of snow and ice and wind. Lies, lies, _lies_ , and for what? _At this point…_

 

She had stopped moving, but hardly noticed. On her knees in snow that piled around her, _it will overtake me, build me a tomb of brilliant white, let it free me of this flesh._

 

She was going to die in the snow, stuck between slavery and freedom, a broken collar around her neck and gilded shackles about her soul, frustrated and dissatisfied, not knowing herself _what **am** I?_

Someone was shouting. She couldn’t see; it was all dark. Was it night? No, her eyes were closed. Warmth pressed against her, and they spoke again.

 

“Ella?”

 

 _That’s me_. Ella, that was her name; she had forgotten again. _What are you, what are you_ what a silly question, _I am Ella._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cool cool cool, so this was me trying a hand at a free-flowing voice to mimic a rapidly deteriorating thought process in someone who already has some serious psychological damage. I hope I managed to capture it in a way that is both intriguing and comprehensible.
> 
> Thank you for reading, it is very much appreciated! If you have any questions, critiques, or just want to chat about the weather, post a comment!


	23. Signifying Nothing

If one imagined an ancient willow, bent and beaten by the wind, still standing where all others had been uprooted and toppled to the cold ground, one might be able to conceive the mood that had fallen upon the makeshift camp huddled between the wind and ice. Sadness and sort of despair that smothered all good sense. Hope, sure, but only for a future of hardship and loss.

 

The Iron Bull and his Chargers had done good work. They had kept them safe along the treacherous path, steadying the injured and carrying those too weak to stand. When they reached a safe distance, he and his boys had helped set up camp and distribute blankets, and even assisted Cullen with makeshift guard rotations. They fetched wood, boiled water, and lent the few healers a hand where they could.

 

It was good to be busy. It made it easier to ignore the whistle of the signal flare, the deafening roar of the avalanche, the leathery flap of wings as that monster finally retreated. It kept his mind off of the fact that she had not made it back, that she would not make it back. _Bury your dead and move on,_ but still he clung tight, _too tight_.

 

It wasn’t surprising, really, that when the chores ran dry, when there was nothing left to do but sit and plan and lick their wounds and he couldn’t even make up tasks for him and his boys, Bull found himself standing and waiting. Just at the edge of the firelight, just where the wind began to bite in earnest. He stood there and stared out upon where Haven used to be, and where she now surely was.

 

She had sacrificed herself for them. One life, for the lives of so many? It was a good thing. But if that was the case, why did it feel so wrong?

 

It was the intention, he decided. She had _wanted_ to die, and such a want was selfish. With the mark, she was too important to the group, and with the power she had held she could have broken the stalemate that now wracked their leadership, could have led them far away from this loss and ruin and towards a fresh start. It had been, in all honesty, impractical to send _her_ of all people. Better himself, or Cassandra, or even Cullen. Better _anyone else._

 

But that was just it, wasn’t it? There hadn’t been anyone else. All were wounded or needed, and she had been right in the end: with the mark, she was the perfect distraction. Hadn’t wanted to drag others to death with her. It was _right,_ damn it all, why couldn’t he just let it go and think about something more important?

 

“She’ll be back.” Bull nearly spooked as the Tevinter walked up next to him, leaning heavily on his staff. Had he really been so distracted?

 

“Unlikely,” he grunted, shifting his weight to one knee. When had that started aching? “That last slide wiped out Haven. Nothing’s climbing out of that.”

 

Next to him, the mage shrugged.  
  
“Just a feeling. Call it intuition, if you will.” The man turned, then, and for the first time seemed to _notice_ the hulking qunari he was speaking with. “Dorian Pavus, by the way. And before we get on with despising each other, I suppose I should thank you.”

 

Iron Bull allowed himself a grin. “What for?”

 

“For saving my life, I’m afraid. I do believe your darling Herald was about to stab me. Dreadful things, life debts, but I suppose it can’t be helped.” The mage wasn’t looking at him, Iron Bull realized. He was staring straight ahead and standing stiff as could be managed with whatever injury afflicted him. Could he actually be serious? Scratch that; of course he was. Stupid fucking ‘vints.

 

“The silence, if one could call the deafening groan of the wind silence, stretched for longer than was comfortable, and though this didn’t bother Bull much Dorian shifted, and coughed politely.

 

“If it isn’t too bold of me, perhaps I may ask why?” he said finally.

 

“Why what?” Bull’s smile grew as the mage huffed.

 

“Why your darling chosen of the Maker seemed intent on carving my heart out with a dagger?”

 

Bull’s smile faltered. “I’m not really sure if it’s my place to say.” He looked out over the endless white. She was dead, it wasn’t as if she’d be able to explain herself. “The Boss is… _was_ , not particularly friendly with ‘vints. Or mages. And you’re, well…”  


“Both of those, wrapped up in a rather fetching bow,” Dorian supplied. More silence. “A slave, then?” he asked, voice barely stretching above the wind.

 

“Yeah.” There was movement, a lumber of color against the white and Iron Bull slowly, casually, readied his axe. The last thing they needed was some of those fucked up demon wolves catching them by surprise. “Never talked about it much.”

 

“No I, er, don’t imagine she did,” said Dorian with a short cough. “You seem to be taking all of this rather well.”

 

“I’m qunari. She did her job, and now it’s time for us to do ours.” He squinted against the snow; the movement seemed to be getting closer, but it was lumbering along slowly. Injured, maybe? Of course the only thing that might survive that avalanche would be a demon wolf. He debated calling over an archer to pick it off from a distance.

 

“Ah, so you _do_ still follow the Qun, then?” asked Dorian. Eggshells, everything was eggshells with him. It was like Krem during the early days, only about a thousand times worse.

 

“You got a problem with that?” He was careful to scrub any and all threat from his voice, to make it an inquiry and nothing more.

 

“As long as you don’t go about converting me, I suppose there won’t be any issue.”

 

Bull just nodded, eye still fixed on the figure. It looked like… it looked like a person. For a moment he thought that one of those red bastards had lived and he tightened his grip on the axe, but no. Hunched over, small, there wasn’t an aura of red about them. Her hand sputtered green, and she fell.

 

“Is that-“ Bull didn’t let him finish; he sprang forward, pushing through the snow with every last ounce of his strength as behind him Dorian shouted for a fresh bed and a healer.

 

When he reached her, even though he didn’t waste time staring he couldn’t help but notice the blue at her lips, the blood caked on pale skin, the way her wrist seemed bent at a wrong angle.

 

“Ella?”

 

She didn’t respond, but he could feel the breath escape her lungs.

 

He didn’t waste time staring, but he cursed the entire way back; a constant stream of mutterings punctuated by sharp swears when, by hasty carelessness or unlucky terrain, he jostled her in his arms. Every time her face creased in pain or her chest rattled, straining against the cold, the distance grew by a mile. In truth although the seconds stretched and strained against reality it took little time to reach the hillcrest, and less to reach the camp as, sliding and stumbling, he hurried with as much care as haste would allow down the hill.

 

People everywhere, gaunt and desperate and _in his fucking way_. Painfully aware that every second brought her closer to a final breath he shoved and shunted them aside, eye roving over the sparse crowd and picking out the healers, the helpers. He brought her towards them as Cullen shouted for the people to disperse.

 

A tent, a bed, hands plied with lyrium and bandages and though he offered assistance there were more than enough eager hands. Although they knew him and he had helped a little part of them still didn’t trust him; in times of hardship hatred and fear grow stronger. They snatched her up as if he had broken her, the assholes. _They_ were the ones who had broken her. Dressed her up and showed her off, put her up on a pedestal and made her dance.

 

Those were the thoughts he was left with, sitting close but not too near the healers’ tent, lounging against a snow-capped boulder. Movement, and Bull’s eye darted towards the tent; Stitches lifted the flap and quickly fastened it closed behind him before making his way directly towards his Chief.

 

“Looks like she’ll be fine.” Stitches grabbed a stick and prodded the shuddering fire back to life. “Well not _fine_ , but alive. Near tore herself up getting here, I reckon.”

 

“Alive’s better than what she was an hour ago,” Bull muttered. Raised voices carried on the wind, and both glanced towards where the crippled Inquisition’s leadership had renewed their argument with verve. Stitches raised a brow.

 

“We’re gonna be here for a while, then.” It wasn’t a question, so Iron Bull didn’t answer. “Well, at least that’ll give them some time in there. She was pretty bad, Chief.”

 

“I know.” Of course he knew; he carried her. He’d seen worse, he _knew_ that he’d seen worse but for some reason the image of her limp and bloodied was seared into his mind like a brand.

  
Stitches shook his head. “I’m not talking about the injuries. Mind you, those were extensive; but I’m talking about the scars.”

 

Bull leaned back, tilting to quirk a brow at him. The Chargers had had their fair share of injuries, many of them–though hilarious in the retelling–horrific and gruesome at the time. Stitches had treated all of them with steady hands. He wasn’t one to flinch at scars; none of his company was, given the state of their Chief.

 

“Keeps muttering in her sleep, too,” Stitches continued, not quite meeting his gaze but keeping an eye on the healers’ tent in case he was needed again. “Most of it’s nonsense, to me anyway. But when they brought in that ‘vint mage, to help with the heat? I swear he got a few shades greener.”

 

Tevene, then. Not strange given what they knew her background. Nothing to write home about.

 

Stitches leaned closer, as if warming himself against the fire.

 

“Look Chief, remember those slavers in Nevarra? Those kids had burns and blisters on their wrists, from the chains. Take that and add five, ten years? Maybe more for all we know? That, on her wrists, ankles, up her legs… neck too, I think. Hard to tell under the collar.”

 

The collar. Iron Bull glanced towards where the higher-ups still bickered. Hopefully Red wasn’t too busy to ‘debrief’ (put the fear of the Maker in) those healers. Stitches sighed, and he brought his attention back to his worn and ragged healer.

 

“And her back… she needs help. Care. Honestly I’m not sure how she’s stayed upright these past few weeks. There are things I could give her; poultices, wraps, honestly even a heated rock for the ache would be better than–“

 

“And why are you telling me this?” Bull knew why. Stitches knew he knew, and snorted.

 

“Have you seen the way she looks at me? Runs in the opposite direction. I’m not even a mage, and she doesn’t want me within a mile. There’s hating healers, and then there’s _that_.”

 

“And _why_ are you–“

 

“For Andraste’s sake, Chief! That girl needs long-term medical attention, and there is no way she’ll let me, or anyone else help her.” There was a shout from the tent, and Stitches started to his feet. “She likes you, I think. Or at least tolerates you. Just talk to her, if you get the chance.”

 

With that he grabbed his pack and walked briskly towards the tent, lifting the flap only to step aside as Dorian stumbled out, sweat on his brow even in the biting wind. Stitches ducked into the tent; Dorian, seeing Bull or perhaps the fire, stalked towards him and settled onto a log in a manner that was somehow graceful despite his obvious exhaustion.

 

There was a long silence, punctuated by the hiss and crackle of a damp fire. Iron Bull caught a stir in the corner of his eye and found a figure lurking, teetering on the bounds of what might be an acceptable distance. A shadow?

 

Finally Dorian huffed, and the campfire flared to a searing heat before sputtering to a simmer. He huffed once more. Iron Bull knew that the mage wanted him to speak first. He didn’t.

 

“Your Herald is a menace,” he said at last, all the more irked by the delay. Bull felt a smile creep onto his face.

 

“I take it she’s awake, then?”

 

“In a manner of speaking. She’s certainly not in possession of all of her faculties, if that’s what you’re asking. Oh, but she _does_ have enough presence of mind to blindly strike at whatever handsome face might be close by.”

 

Bull chuckled. “Should’ve warned you. Other healers probably know by now.”

 

“Know what? That your chosen savior is a murderous lunatic?” Dorian hissed, hands in his hair. Bull’s smile dropped.

 

“Hey, the boss is alright.” He tried to say it softly, gently, but there must have been some underlying menace that he couldn’t quite scrape away, and Dorian flinched. Barely, nearly imperceptible, but there all the same.

 

“Apologies; I spoke rashly.” The mage’s voice was broken and tired, just like everyone else in this huddled camp. “But I was only trying to help. I may not be the most well versed in healing, but I know the basics. And I know fire and heat.”

 

“I know you’re helping. She knows too, but she’s got a lot of shit. It’s not an excuse,” he said quickly, when Dorian seemed ready to snap once more. “But it’s true. And she _is_ a bit of a shit herself, so it makes things difficult. You came at a bad time. A _really_ bad time.”

 

“Oh, did I? I had assumed that having your charming hovel razed by an archdemon was an everyday occurrence here in the south.”

 

“More like biweekly.”

 

“Well, isn’t that a relief.” Dorian sighed again, rising to his feet and, in a futile gesture of decorum, dusting off his pants. “I will retire for the evening, then. Before some wretched sky-beast snaps me up.”

 

He left; so did the shadow. So Red had a tail on him already. At least he knew she still had her shit together, even with the Inquisition in shambles. Their forces were a mess, and any ties they had to noble families were probably dust, just like Haven; but at least they still had their spies.

 

Bull stretched, his back popping and groaning in a manner that couldn’t be good. Somehow he’d been suckered into having another friendly conversation with the boss. _Twice_. And while he was sure she’d _love_ him telling her to take some damn medicine, there was no way she’d be nearly as receptive to a _‘hey maybe stop trying to murder the ‘vint’_.  


He stood, giving the fire one last poke with a stick as he did so. That bridge was a ways off, and he had other things that were more pressing. His report, for one. There weren’t many ways to spin _‘we just got our asses handed to us’_ in a positive light, but the night was young.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kicked my ass. But now we can get to some exciting shit, so I'm pumped.
> 
> Thanks for reading, drop a comment or a kudos! I read them, I'm just scared to reply!


	24. Rest

For the first time in a long time, Ella dreamt. It was not pleasant.

 

It was her typical fare: blood and death and pain, hot flashes of memories she kept chained up for a _reason_ damn it, and the incessant burn of things that might be, mistakes she might make.

 

Vin, reaching out to her with gasping breaths, barely able to speak in anything but wheezes. She couldn’t see his body, because she hadn’t been able to; but the eyes, she remembered the eyes. Bright against the shrouded darkness but pale, so pale. Once they must have been blue like the sky, now they were greyed and cloudy. He reached out to her and she did nothing, because what could she do? _Nothing, there was nothing I could do_. She did nothing. Didn’t speak, didn’t even dare to hold his hand as he died, alone and in agony. _Nothing_.

 

She knew it was a dream, she knew the hazy blur of motion and emotion that left her sick, knew that it wasn’t real. Still, she did nothing.

 

When he finally fell silent, when he finally drifted into the shadows, she knew her relief would be short-lived. There was always someone else to replace the last, and if she ever ran out of ghosts her mind would invent some.

 

Even Malice, sometimes, although it was such a weak and watered down facsimile, a fraction of pain and _horror_ , of the sheer terror he really was. It didn’t matter, though, because just _seeing_ him was enough to bring her near tears. _I am not weak_. She tried not to speak, not to yell out or scream. She couldn’t remember where she had fallen asleep, and she didn’t need to be picked up by something _real_ and infinitely more unpleasant.

 

She couldn’t remember where she had fallen asleep. Why she had fallen asleep. That Tevinter _bastard_. That _fucking_ piece of _shit_ who dared to touch her and throw her around like a ragdoll, she could still feel his _infected_ hands on her skin, blistering with red lyrium. Could still hear his words, still feel his _scorn._ Everything hurt. She pushed through the pain and the haze because she needed to stay alive, if only to punch that fuck in the face.

 

Everything hurt. Her body felt broken, and she could actually feel the magic seeping into her bones, _changing me_ , she struggled to stop feeling it, to sink back into dreams. A mistake, _a mistake_ , but she was tired and cold and hurting and she didn’t think she’d be able to deal with that quite yet. Should have just woken up, _wake up wake up_

 

She was alone, and it was dark. Ice seeped into her bones as her breath misted in front of her, a plume of grey smoke that quickly melted into the flickering shadows.

 

“This isn’t real.” The words were meant to be strong and sure, but they hissed forth as a whisper. Doubt and sheer exhaustion weighed at her mind as the darkness shifted around her, roiling like the ocean in a silent storm.

 

A flash; bright, blinding light that faded to dimness, and the scene changed. Her hands were warm and wet, and she dared not look down at them. Not that it mattered. She knew what blood smelled like, and it was thick in the air.

 

She couldn’t close her eyes. That was the thing about dreams. Or her dreams, at least; she supposed that she couldn’t speak for everyone.

 

“This isn’t real, I’m not here, _this isn’t real_.” Stronger, that time. Maybe she could do this.

 

“That’s rather presumptuous. How do you know?” _Oh sweet fuck shit balls_ –

 

“You aren’t real. You’re just a figment of my imagination, you piece of shit.”

 

“There’s no need to be rude. Why don’t we talk this out?”

  
“Why don’t you leave me the fuck alone you–“  
  
“I’d appreciate it if you stopped insulting me, Herald.”  
  
No one had called her that in her dreams, before. There were plenty of options, if they didn’t use her name, but it had never been _Herald_.

 

“Who…” _Steady, steady_. “What are you?”

 

“Oh, does it matter?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Hmph. You _are_ no fun. I’d heard, but I guess seeing is believing.”

 

“What are you.”

 

“What is it with humans and your obsession with names?”

 

“ _Demon_.” A hiss, barely audible between her teeth but the thing heard it, the thing laughed.

 

“Touchy, aren’t we? Well, rest easy darling Herald. I’m not here to possess you.”

 

Ella was silent. _Don’t speak, don’t give it anything to work with_.

 

“I just said I’m not here to possess you. Was I not…? oh, it’s no matter, I suppose. I’m here for a friend. With a message. _They know_. Where you are, what you are. They know, sweet little Herald with an attitude problem.”

 

“ _Who_ knows?”  
  
“You see, the fact that you have to ask that tells me that you have some serious issues. Perhaps you should make better choices, in the future?”

 

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

 

“Ooh, wrong again, because you _do_ have to listen to me, actually. Until you wake up, anyway. Such strong dreams, but no control whatsoever; I suppose they were right about that as well–“

 

“I will kill you.”

 

“I mean there really is no need for that kind of rudeness, _honestly_ , but what was the question again?”

 

“ _Who_.”

 

“Oh, yes, I forgot. Who indeed.”

 

“I’m not playing games with–“  
  
“You should just go back easy, you know. Better in the long run.”

 

Ice in her lungs. “You’re a liar. You’re a fucking liar.”

 

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? But I can help, see. _I can help make all those problems disappear._ ”

 

 _Oh thank the Maker_. Never in her life had Ella been more relieved by a demon trying to possess her. “Fuck off.”

 

Pain pain pain _fucking ow_.

 

Ella laughed. “You think that scares me? If you can tell what I’m afraid of, you should be able to do better than that, don’t you think?”

 

The thing growled, low and guttural. “You’ll kill them all. They will find you and make you. Do you think you can resist? You didn’t before.”

 

“Well I guess I’ll just have to hide real good, won’t I?”

 

Its voice turned soft, almost crooning. “I can help you, I can help you get that collar off. A little power, a little force is all you need and they’ll never be able to control you again.”

 

“Yes, because _you’ll_ be controlling me. I know how this works. It’s almost insulting that you think I’d fall for this.”

 

“Or maybe…” Something shifted in its tone, something that Ella decided was very not-okay. “Maybe I’ll just find _him_? Tell him where you are?”  
  
“Just because you can read surface emotions doesn’t mean you know–“

  
“Malice? Truly? Yes, I can find him, he could make you–“  
  
“He would kill you. He doesn’t share.” Quiet panic, but she forced it down because _fucking Fade_ , because here emotions could betray you. “You won’t do it.”

 

“Ah but you’ve been so rude to me, little Herald. I said I didn’t want to possess you.”  
  
“Yes, but you were a fucking liar.”

“See, that. That is not the type of language a Herald should be using. I’m sure that Malice could fix you, could make you a better Herald. I’m sure Malice could find me another vessel, yes… What if the Herald told the faithful that they _needed_ to accept that voice in their dreams?”

 

“That is stupid, you’re stupid.” _Fuck piece of shit motherfucking_ – “I’m not afraid.”

 

“Now who’s the liar?” tutted the thing. “And even worse, you lie to _yourself_ , now that’s just no way for a leader to act. If you don’t want Malice, I suppose I could help, but it’s really one or the other, you know.”

 

It was lying. It had to be lying. There was no way it could even _find_ him, even if it wanted to. And if she was possessed they would kill her, right? They would know, they would know that she was different.

 

Would they? Would they know? She wore so many different masks that even she was hard-pressed to say who she really was. Would they know?

 

No, no they wouldn’t but that was all the more reason not to give in, right? _But if Malice_ … fuck him, fuck him and his face this wasn’t about Malice, _this is about the fear demon in front of me_.

 

_But what if…?_

 

“Ella?” Not Herald, but Ella. She could almost see the voice turn.

 

“Who dares to–“

 

Gone.

 

“You have strong dreams,” said Solas.

 

Stupid fucking _mage_ piece of shit _fuck_.

 

“And loud thoughts.” He almost sounded amused.

 

“How do I know you’re not a demon,” she snapped, clutching her marked palm to her chest. She swore he rolled his eyes.

 

“Can you truly not tell? It is one thing to deny your magic in the waking world, but in your _dreams_ surely you can–“

 

“ _I am not a fucking mage you fucking asshole trash fuck_.” If Ella had a dagger, it would have been in his face.

 

He seemed genuinely surprised. “Are you being honest? Surely your denial doesn’t stretch this far.”

 

“I. Am not. A mage.”

 

“Yes, you’ve already said that, but–“

  
“No, there are no buts, okay? Look just because you’re all high and mighty mister Fade extraordinaire, doesn’t mean shit.”

 

“Have you been speaking to Sera lately–“  
  
“ _I curse when I’m angry, o-fucking-kay_?” She forced her breaths even. “And I am _very_ angry right now.”

 

“Fine. I apologize. Can we please start over?”  
  
She glared at him warily, before granting him a cautious nod.

 

“All right. I was working under the assumption that you were a mage–“

 

“A very fucking wrong assumption that–“

 

“ _Please_ , let me speak.”

 

“Fine. Because you said please.”

 

“I sensed magic. I assumed that you must have magical capabilities, if small and easily hidden. That, and your dreams seem to attract many demons, even if one takes the mark into consideration. Do you understand why I might have felt this way?”

 

She did. She knew why, but the _collar_ was _dead_ , even the Templars couldn’t sense it, why could he?

 

“I will take that as a maybe. I’m sorry. I need you to be honest with both yourself and me. Are you a mage?”  
  
“ _No_ ,” she said through clenched teeth.

 

“Then you truly have no way of defending yourself in the Fade.”

 

“I… no.”

 

“Would you care to explain _how_ your connection grew this strong? If not magic?”  
  
“Oh, it was magic. And no, I would not.”

 

He breathed deeply, as if calming himself. “Fine. We will continue this discussion later.”

 

“Says you,” muttered Ella, but he didn’t respond.

 

“Don’t you want to know how _I_ am here?”

 

“I assumed it was some magic bullshit.”

 

“Well I… suppose that’s as good an answer as any.”

 

“What do you _want_ , Solas.”

 

“Oh, so I have a name, now.”

  
“Fuck off.”

 

“I wanted to ensure that you were safe.”  
  
“…and?”

 

“Is that not a good enough reason?”

 

“It’s never that simple. What else do you want.”

 

He sighed. “I wanted to speak with you. To know what happened at Haven. You faced this Elder One, and the more we know about him–the _sooner_ we know about him–the better.”

 

Ah, yes. The Elder One. _Corypheus_

 

“Corypheus?” he said, and Ella realized that she must have spoken her thoughts aloud. _Fucking Fade_.

 

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms. “That was his name. What he said his name was, anyway. Had this… orb… thingy. Pattern on it like a fingerprint, and it glowed green, and then he…” Ella’s nose wrinkled. What _had_ he been trying to do?

 

“He what?”  
  
“I think… I think he was _trying_ to rip the mark from my hand with it. But he couldn’t, for some reason. It was stuck. Feels different now, though. Like it was all tense and closed off before, and he unlocked it, somehow.”

 

“That is… intriguing.” He thought for a long while, but Ella felt the pause was more for effect than anything else. Whatever it was the he was mulling over, he already knew.

  
“Spit it out.”

 

“The artifact. It reminds me of something similar in Elvhen lore.”  
  
“Of course it does.” It was Ella’s turn to pause, though she truly needed the time. “I suppose that makes sense. He was a Magister, claimed to have walked in the Fade. Either he thinks he was one of those ‘original darkspawn’ fucks, or he actually _is_. And Tevinter stole a lot of shit from the elves.”

 

“Yes.” There was something more, something he was holding back, but Ella was too tired for games. He could keep his secrets.

 

“Are we done here, then?”

 

“Not quite. I’ve wandered the Fade, searching for a place where the Inquisition could grow strong. I believe I’ve found one. A fortress, to the North.”

 

 

Ella woke and fell into slumber once more several times, although she didn’t dream again. She suspected that she had a certain apostate to thank for that, but she couldn’t bring herself to care one way or another. _Magic touching me…_ she was just so tired.

 

Apparently at some point she had punched the ‘Vint in the face. Unfortunate. She didn’t remember it at all; ice and darkness and burning, always burning, _heat seeping into flesh, shriveled skin_. She didn’t quite remember waking then, only the brief flash of _walls_ _closing_ _in_ , _suffocating, please I can’t_ –before she fell asleep once more.

 

There was singing; a hushed murmur of a song that was kindled in the heart and leapt from every mouth with unerring certainty. Ella didn’t know the song, but she felt its rhythm in her bones, deep and calm and sure. She supposed that was enough. Darkness, again.

 

Every time she opened her eyes there was someone else by her little cot. It was as if they were keeping vigil, although she couldn’t quite figure out _why_. Surely there was something else for them to be doing, something better than making sure that she was still breathing. She tried to smile at them, when she could, but something in the slant of her mouth only deepened the creases of their faces.

 

 

_“…The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees the light and goes toward the flame, she should see fire and go towards the Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall become her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword…”_

“Some of us are trying to sleep, Seeker,” said Ella dryly, faced still pressed against the head of the cot. Cassandra started and stopped her recitation, turning to look at her.

 

“Some find the verses helpful, when it comes to sleeping.”

 

“Do you?”

 

Her nose crinkled. “Not lately.”

 

 _Oh_. Ella hadn’t seen that one coming.

 

“I didn’t expect you to wake so soon,” said Cassandra finally. Ella tried to laugh, but the noise escaped as a cough that rattled her ribs instead.

 

“Why is that?” Ella managed to grind out around her wheezing. _Pathetic_.

 

Cassandra simply raised a brow. “I do not think I need to answer that. In any case, you should rest. We’re stuck here for the time being, anyway.”

 

“Wha- what do you mean?” Why was it so difficult to _speak_? It was as if every word stabbed her in the chest.

 

“Until we stop bickering and come to a solution, we’re not going anywhere. With all that has happened…” She sighed, running her hand over the hilt of her sword. “Tensions are high.”

 

 _A fortress to the North_. She needed to _get up get up_.

 

Cassandra was pressing her back into the bed with a firm hand quicker than thought, but not before Ella’s body made it known with a deafening screech how much it disapproved of that course of action.

 

“Why do you insist upon injuring yourself constantly? It’s like watching a child.”

 

“A _child_?”

 

“You throw yourself at the ground, trusting that something will catch you.”

 

“…that metaphor is somehow insulting, confusing, and apt at the same time.”

 

“I aim to please. But the point still stands.”

 

Ella’s shoulders stuttered in the beginnings of a shrug, but she quickly thought better of it. “I’m a soldier. Isn’t that what soldiers do?”  
  
“A soldier hopes to live, to fight another day. Sometimes, when I watch you… you throw yourself at the enemy, and onto their blades.”

 

“Maybe that’s how I survive.”

 

Cassandra huffed. “Then you were not taught well.”

 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”  
  
“Barely.” She sighed. “You can’t mindlessly dash yourself against walls anymore. You have a purpose, even if you choose to ignore it.”

 

“I think ignoring it _is_ my purpose.”

 

“That… makes little sense.”

 

“Think on it, Seeker.”

 

“…I will, if you promise me you’ll at least _try_ to rest and heal.”

 

“I… you know what? Fine. But if I taste something weird in my food I swear that I will–“

 

“ _Why_ would there be something in your food?” asked Cassandra, exasperated.

 

“Medicine bullshit,” Ella muttered.

 

“No one is going to slip a potion into your food without telling you.”

 

“You would be surprised. It’s just a warning, anyway.”

 

“Rest, Herald.”

 

“I think I’ve slept enough for a lifetime, thanks.”

 

“It’s only been a few days.”

 

“A few _days_?” Ella groaned into the cot. “People need to know I’m alive.”

 

“They know. You should worry more about yourself.”

 

“Yep. That’s me. Selfless Herald of Andraste.”

 

“I’m serious.”  
  
“Serious? You? _Really_?”

 

Cassandra grumbled something, but Ella didn’t quite catch it. The darkness at the edge of her vision had caught up to her unawares, overtaking thought.

 

 

No prayer, this time, but the errant scratching of a pen on paper.

 

“Varric?”

 

“Nope, try again.”

 

“Bull.”

 

“There you go.”

 

Ella sighed, blinking open her eyes and squinting against the faint light of the flickering lamp. “What’re you writing?” Her speech was slurred. _This is the worst._

 

“A report.”

 

“Ah. One of those good old: ‘mountain fell on me, but I’m still kicking I guess,’ memos.”

 

“Mountain didn’t fall on me, boss.”

 

“Please don’t call me that.” It was a mistake, barely more than a whisper. The creak and groan of her ribs was louder, but still he nodded, _damn him_.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

“I’ll be better once I get out of this tent.”

 

“You’ve been out of the tent.”

 

“I’ll amend my statement, then: I’ll be better once I get out of this tent while conscious.”

 

He laughed, quiet and low. “Stitches told me you talk in your sleep.”

 

“Bull, I’m starting to have this sinking suspicion that you never actually _attended_ spy school.”

 

“You’re evading.”

 

“I’m _joking_.”

 

“And you’re still–“

 

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped, anger hot and seething in her voice. “Sometimes I talk in my sleep.”

 

“It’s not about what I _want_ you to say, b- Ella.”

  
“You can call me boss, it’s fine.”

 

“ _Again_. Ella, you’re still dancing around–“

 

“You’re distressing me, Bull. I’m so distressed, the healers would be simply furious.”

 

He grunted. “You hate healers.”

 

“Yeah, but I also hate this conversation, so…”

 

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “Fine. But we will talk later.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, talk later.”

 

“Ella?”

 

“Shh, I’m sleeping.” And she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everybody was... just talking, mostly.
> 
> A lot of lines of thought, a lot of different ideas, another nice little mystery (hopefully).
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Please drop a comment if you have questions, thoughts, want to discuss the current political spectrum of the international forum... you know, typical stuff. But seriously, I don't bite. 
> 
> And if I haven't replied to your comments, it's because I'm just an awkward turtle who really appreciates reading them but can't quite figure out how to respond to compliments.


	25. An Echo

_She was on a ship, rocking back and forth and back and forth and back and–_

_Why? She couldn’t recall. The only thing she could remember was the pitch of the ship, the arc of the waves as they stretched beneath the wood that seemed so flimsy as it lurch from left to right to left to right to left to–_

_And the dryness of her throat. The burning in her eyes, her nose, her lungs. The darkness. She remembered the darkness._

_The darkness. She remembered… yes. That was why. Knives hidden up her sleeves, in her boots, under her skin. No. Maybe? Didn’t matter, all that mattered was the job._

_Up down up down up down up down–_

_Stop._

_Silly, can’t stop the sea. Can’t stop the ocean. Can only endure. Trace the lines of his face against your palm. Remember, remember, that’s what’s important. Blade in the dark, between the ribs, across the throat. Slash the lines of his face blood red. The job._

_Don’t let the job go sideways to side to side to side to side to side to–_

_Stop._

 

She was on a wagon. Rocking. Pitching. Lurching. People were singing, sobbing. Her throat was dry, her lungs were stinging. But it was bright.

 

The snow caught the sunlight and made it dazzling.

 

She stirred, and someone did the same. A hand on her shoulder that burned with the contact _get off get off don’t touch me_

 

She pulled away, and the hand did as well.

 

“Bull?” She regretted saying it instantly, because not only was it _weak, don’t show the_ but also it _hurt_ , ripped her throat raw.

 

“You were dreaming, boss.”

 

“Oh.” She didn’t open her eyes. It was bright enough with them closed. “Did I…” _Don’t ask_. “Did I say anything?” _Idiot_.

 

“Nah, just moving around. Mumbled a bit, but nothing else.”

 

She opened her eyes. It was far too bright, and she hissed and groaned as she drew up a hand to cover her face. “I don’t remember falling asleep.”

 

“You were up front all yesterday, scouting around. Nearly collapsed at the campfire.”

 

Ah, yes. She remembered that. Running the paths was exhausting; her feet would sink into the unturned snow, the wind would bite into any and all exposed flesh, and the sun, always the sun, glaring off the white expanse.

 

“And now I’m in a wagon.”

 

“Yeah. It’s surprising, I know, but people seem to be of the opinion that you don’t get enough sleep.”

 

“How odd.” Her body creaked and groaned as she levered herself upright, leaning against the back of a crate so that she finally looked him in the eyes. Well, eye. The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. “Have there been any problems?”

 

He shook his head; always small, short movements, lest he accidentally impale someone on his horns. She fought to keep the smile from spreading as he spoke. “Nothing big. One of the carts got stuck, but me and the boys managed to drag it out.”

 

“Sounds fun. Sorry I missed the party.” Ella rolled a shoulder, cracking her back as she stretched her arms above her head. “Back into the thick of it, yeah?”

 

“Sure you don’t need some more rest, boss?” No pressure. He never pushed. Ella shook her head.

 

“Trust me, rest is the last thing I need.”

 

 

***

 

The ice was daggers on her skin, biting at her nose and tearing at her lungs. It was unpleasant.

 

“How do you Southerners stand it?” The Altus. Ella bit back a growl, conscious of eyes on her. Well. _An_ eye. Bull laughed, a booming thing that almost made Ella worried about potential rockslides. Next to her, Varric sniggered.

 

“Come on Sparkler!” called the dwarf as they trudged along. “You said it yourself: you’re a pariah. Where’s that bravado?”

 

“I’ll give you bravado when I can feel my toes,” sniffed Pavus, kicking a snowbank for emphasis.

 

Damn pampered little mage boy. People were _dying_ , and he was complaining about the cold. _Unreasonable_. Ella clambered over another hill, face screwed up in a snarl. She could be as unreasonable as she liked; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t earned it.

 

“See anything up there, Dancer?”

 

Ella glanced down with the beginnings of a grin. “Why, Teapot? Would you like me to get you a chair?”

 

Varric pressed a hand to his chest, staggering backwards. “Height jokes! I thought we were past this.”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was…” She smirked, and Varric narrowed his eyes as if he knew what was coming. “…a low blow.” Bull laughed again, and Varric groaned.

 

“A dwarf just can’t catch a break around here,” he muttered, smiling in spite of himself.

 

“Yeah, well… I guess we’re just not in the business of ‘catching breaks’.” Ella slid down the other side of the hill less than gracefully, wincing at the scrape of ice-covered rock against any exposed skin.

 

“You can say that again,” said Bull, horns emerging over the hill behind her.

  
“I guess we’re not in the business of–“

 

A shift in the wind. “Everyone be quiet.”

 

And they were. Mostly. Ella could still hear the rustling of clothes, the harshness of breath. She could _hear_ the confusion, the concern. But she could also hear the footsteps, even through these distractions; they dragged and clattered against the snow.

 

Reflexively her hands moved to sign: _Several. Injured. Moving–_ but no, no one here would _understand_ that. She stilled her hands, forced them to the hilts of her daggers as she made her way forward with careful steps that just barely dinted the snow. Ragged breaths reached her ears, alongside another pitiful scrape of a body against the ice and stone. Ella adjusted the grip on her daggers and rounded the corner.

 

Little things, quick flashes of information that her mind thought might be useful: man, young, battered, bloody, bits of exposed bone and a leg twisted at an odd angle. A face worn by hardship, recent and not. Blue lips. The barest flicker of the Fade about his skin. Most important: the empty footprints that surrounded him.

 

Her head twitched to the side as the whisper of cloth on skin caught her ear, and she flipped a dagger to grasp it by the blade before flinging it towards the sound. A sharp gasp and the thud of a body on the ground. Ella turned to see the glint of gold and red that marked Tevinter fashion before she felt the whisper of rearing magic to her left and flung another hasty dagger towards it. A fall: dead.

 

Two more, she could hear them, feel them, taste the Fade on her tongue and as she swiveled Ella drew two more daggers from within her cloak. A crackle of flames, and Ella smiled. _Gotcha_. She rolled to the side at the fireball and sprang forward, digging her blade into the man’s neck and ripping it free with a _squelch_ and a burst of blood.

 

One more. The Fade went sharp, cool, crisp, and Ella ripped her foot free of the ice that clutched at her, snarling as she turned. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bull, Varric, even Dorian at the ready, weapons drawn, but how _dare_ he try to freeze her, trap her, cage her. A crackle of electricity, the air grew taught. _How dare he_. Ella lunged even as the tension snapped and a burst of lightning flew from his staff, and reflexively she brought up her daggers to disperse it. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , a mistake; she’d lost those daggers ages ago. The electricity ran through her crossed blades, dancing across her fingertips, a hundred knives across her arms and it _hurt_. Still Ella bared her teeth and plunged her smoking daggers in his sides, letting them fall with him as she stumbled back, hands twitching.

 

She turned her hands over and winced; the flesh was raw and burnt, nothing terrible but just another injury that would need time and rest to heal. She _hated_ those.

 

 _What were you thinking?_ she berated herself. It was an instinct, even if one she had thought long quashed, to block magic with her daggers. But those weren’t _hers_ anymore, and hadn’t been since… _fuck_ , she couldn’t even remember. The mark crackled and popped, probably at the magic, and she hissed, clenching her hand. She turned her head when she heard the sound of feet plowing through snow.

 

“That’s all of them, I think. One’s barely still alive, or at least he was.” Ella pointed at where the first man had lain, but Bull didn’t turn.

 

“A little warning next time?” said Bull, and Ella almost winced before she realized that he seemed more amused than annoyed. She forced a grin, dropping her hands to her sides.

 

“I had it under control,” she said simply. Varric scoffed as he scrambled down the hill.

 

“If ‘by control’ you mean ‘almost got my hands blown off’.”

 

“It was an error,” said Ella stiffly. “Won’t happen again.” Since no one else seemed to think it was important, she made her way to the injured ‘Vint, finding him easily enough. Wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

 

A young man, and definitely a mage. He seemed near death, and Ella knelt by him and felt for a pulse; it was weak, but there.

 

“Altus,” she called sharply, and Pavus’ nose wrinkled.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can you heal him?”

 

He seemed surprised. “I can try to stabilize him, but we’ll need to take him back to–“

 

“Fewer words.”

 

He huffed. “A little bit,” he said, purposefully punctuating each syllable, as if speaking to a child. She didn’t let it rankle her; something else was catching her, something she couldn’t place. Ella motioned for him to start and sat back on her heels, thinking.

 

It took Pavus, really, to make the pieces click. The discomfort she felt around him called back things she’d rather not remember, and it was then that she realized the actually _recognized_ the unconscious ‘Vint. His face was paled, lips blue, skin bloodied, but she knew him, somehow.

 

It wasn’t a bad feeling, she decided when Pavus had finally declared the man stable. He hadn’t been cruel, surely. In all honesty, she could muster up any remember hatred, and she had had that even for the ‘good’ ones. Maybe he had been an outsider? A kind stranger she had met once on the street? She didn’t think so. It was still _unpleasant_ , whatever memory he was. Not a beacon of hope, or anything of the kind.

 

“Boss, are you _sure_ you want to take him back to camp?”

 

“You are the worst spy ever.”

 

“You took a pretty rough hit, I just want to make sure that–“

 

“I’m not…” She sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. “There’s something. I can’t… I can’t place it but there’s _something_.”

 

Blessedly Bull seemed to understand, giving her a sharp nod before moving to pick up the man, but before he could the unconscious mage stirred, eyes fluttering open. Eyes. The eyes, _she remembered the eyes_.

 

“…Morn?” Ella couldn’t keep the words in, and at that point there wasn’t a lot keeping her from kneeling down beside him, over him. But… no. Confusion, in his eyes. Stupid, stupid, _stupid._ Morn hadn’t been a mage. Morn hadn’t even been a _man_.

 

“You… you know Morn?” he managed in a shuddering whisper. Now it was Ella’s turn to be confused.

  
“Who are you,” she demanded, and the man flinched.

 

“I… Morn’s… she’s my sister.”

 

 _Oh_ , it made sense. Sort of. Morn had talked about a brother, a brother named… what was it?

 

“ _Quen_?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You… look a lot like her.”

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

Ella heard Bull shift, and her grasp on her daggers tightened spasmodically. “And now you’re with the Venatori.” No emotion. Don’t give them an edge.

 

He sucked a breath between his teeth, chest rising with the sharp chill. “I’m not _with_ them.”

 

Ella felt a wrinkle in her nose. “Hmm… let’s see.” She nudged his robes with her foot. “It sure does _look_ like you’re–“

  
“I cannot possibly be the only one who has _no idea_ what’s going on here, yes?” said Dorian, and Ella loosened her dagger slightly before she managed to _breathe_. She straightened, turned, and motioned towards the Quen.

 

“This is Quen. We found him in a snowbank while we were scouting ahead, and after I killed these other ‘Vints you actually fixed him up, if you recall, and then–“

 

“No need to get saucy, Dancer.”

 

“I am _not_ –“ She quieted at a significant look from Bull, grumbling to herself before saying: “Look, he’s just a guy, alright?”

 

“A guy you know?” asked Bull. Ella rolled her eyes.

 

“I knew his sister, but they look alike. Twins.” She hesitated, turning towards a bewildered looking Quen. “What happened to Morn, anyway?”

 

“She’s safe.” It was his turn to pause, and the silence was punctuated by the harshness of his breath and the cold whispers in the wind. “I actually… she’s why I’m, you know… here.”

 

“Ah.” She understood. It was common, to buy another’s freedom through work. One of the reasons attachments could be a chore. But… “You’re not collared. And your clothes…”

  
“I’m not a slave,” he said; too sharp, too quick, too angry. Quen sighed, leaning his head back into the snow. “I got out. I’m a citizen, now. Well, I guess indentured. For Morn.”  
  
“You’re paying her way out.” It wasn’t a question, and he nodded. “That’s noble, I guess.”

 

He seemed to be regaining his wits, something that Ella was glad for. If what he said was true, it was disheartening that he had gotten so far with an attitude like that. And Morn had been a clever bastard as well. “I’m at a disadvantage: you know my face, my name, and my sister, and yet I don’t know you.”

 

“Good.”

 

His eyes closed, and for a moment Ella thought that he had fallen unconscious again. But they snapped open once more, sharper. “You knew Morn. Slave?”

 

Ella’s turn to bristle, hand crackling at her side, but she didn’t deny it. Quen’s eyes darted towards the flash of green, widening a fraction.

 

“Herald.” He grinned: a bloody thing. “ _Fuck_. The Herald’s a damned _slave_ –“

“Watch it.” Something in her voice made him fall blessedly silent, and he reconsidered his words with caution, speaking slowly when he chose them.

 

“It’s just… I heard, you know? But they tried to cover it up. Insisted it wasn’t true. Strung someone up, for the whispers.” He leaned back with a hollow laugh. “Can’t let them know that it’s possible to actually get out, nonetheless get so high up as you.”

 

“You got out.” Though she knew it was unfair, she couldn’t keep the venom from her voice. “Just waltzed out of their, hands on fire–“

 

“You think this was _easy_?” he snapped, eyes blazing. “You have _no idea_ how much I’ve sacrificed, just to get this far.”

 

“You’re _working_ for them!”

 

“It was this or a collar.”

 

“I’d take the collar.”

He laughed again. “Oh, I can see that. _Fuck_ , you really do have this sort of martyr complex, don’t you? How are you even still _alive_?”

 

Bull chuckled, and Ella whirled on him. “Something funny?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” he shook his head unconvincingly. “It’s just nice to get some validation.”

 

“I am not a martyr,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “I’m just practical.”

 

“Nothing practical about the collar,” said Quen darkly. Ella sighed.

 

“Yeah.” She scratched at her nose, rubbing some feeling back into her face. “Did Morn ever mention me?”

 

“I haven’t spoken to her.”

 

“Then how do you know she’s–“

 

“I’ve _seen_ her,” said Quen hastily. “I just haven’t _spoken_ to her.”

 

Ella nodded. “We worked together for a while.”

 

“Really?” His eyes widened a fraction. “So you’re…” Ella nodded quickly, eyes sharp. He seemed to take the message, and didn’t finish the sentence. “Damn. Alright. And you’d still take the collar?”

 

“I… don’t know,” said Ella, hesitating. She didn’t need to justify herself to this… foe? slave? echo? Still, it was nice to talk to someone who would _understand_. “I snapped at you, it was undeserved. In truth… I just don’t know.”

 

He nodded slowly. “It’s easier with no strings. I got Morn’s sorry ass to look after, makes things even more complicated.”

 

A silence stretched between them, awkward and too-long as an unacknowledged question hung in the air: _what now?_

 

Quen would want to go back, to fulfill his servitude and free his sister. Ella had a duty to the Inquisition, and this man was, technically, the enemy. She could not let that happen.

 

He shivered, and Ella sighed.

 

“Let’s just get you back to camp,” she said. “Before you freeze to death.”

 

“Sounds fair.”

 

***

 

The walk back was… awkward, to say the least. They kept trying to ask her questions, Ella kept dodging, rolling, ducking. Bull, at least, had the tact to wait till later, but she knew that he would approach her eventually. Varric was persistent, and even Pavus could not seem to keep his curiosity at bay.

 

“So you two are acquainted?” the mage asked.

 

“None of your business,” said Ella.

 

“Forgive me, but I think it _is_ my business if you’re dragging a member of the Venatori into the center of what remains of the Inquisition.”

 

“He is not of the Venatori.”

 

“Technically…” began Quen, but Ella stared him to silence.

 

“One cannot be held accountable for something done under duress,” she said, for both him and herself. It was an old battle, that, one that lurched between crippling self-blame and a confidence that bordered on arrogance. She could never seem to find a middle ground. Pavus grumbled into silence, and Varric picked up where he had left off.

 

“But you said you worked with this Morn? Doing what?” He had a keen nose for drama, she’d give him that.

 

“Varric…”

 

“Come on, Dancer, the readers want to know!”

 

“I’m a slave. We worked in the same household.” Technically, this was true. Quen snorted, and Ella sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I could still kill you.”

 

“Yeah, but will you?” The man sounded triumphant. “I mean, you didn’t before. You owe something to Morn?”

 

Her reply was too quick, and too sharp. “I don’t owe her _anything_.”

 

He seemed to finally take the hint and fell silent, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other as Bull supported most of his weight. Quiet, finally…

 

“If you owe nothing, then _why_ are we taking him back to–“

 

Ella closed her eyes and sighed.

 

***

 

The Nightingale, finally, seemed to understand, with no questions asked. Leliana simply took one look at the man, nodded, and set about establishing a secure location to hold him. It rankled at Ella to cage or chain him, but she knew necessity. He could be a valuable asset, if played correctly.

 

“You haven’t _told_ them?”

 

_Or just an ass._

 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Ella glanced around hastily; they were sitting in what seemed to be isolation, but she couldn’t be sure. Quens hands were bound behind him as a temporary solution, and Ella had volunteered to watch him while they set something up. No one seemed to want to come closer than necessary to a ‘Vint. Quen rolled his eyes.

 

“Come _on_ , I’m not dense. I mean, Morn’s smarter, clearly, but that’s because… you know.”

 

There was no one around. “I thought _she_ got _you_ out,” Ella hissed. “I thought that was the _point_.”

 

“I mean…” Quen sighed. “She’s spent her entire life protecting me, saving me. I figured… time to return the favor, you know?”

 

Ella pressed a hand against his side, and he winced. She pulled a way. “Bang up job you’re doing so far.”

 

“It _was_ going great,” he said furiously. “That is, until _you_ dropped a fucking _mountain_ on us.”

 

“’Us’? _‘Us’?_ ” Ella shook her head. “You’re an idiot. Morn can handle herself, you should run while you can.”

 

“I’m not leaving her.”

 

“Did you hear me?”

 

“And they’re good to me.”

 

“Never mind. I take it back. You’re fucking _brain-dead_.”

 

“Get off of my ass,” he growled, shifting his arms behind him. “Just ‘cause you’re not a mage–“

 

“I do _not_ want to be a mage. Fucking…” She waved her hands in frustration, before settling. “Fucking demons and shit.”

 

“Well then why…” He stopped. He smiled. “Alright, that was kind of impressive, but we were having a conversation.”

 

“If you tell them _anything_ I will denounce you and your words, and I will orchestrate your death by grisly accident.”

 

“ _Fuck_ , okay, a little defensive there. But, um, the fact that you’re threatening me tells me that they would believe me, so…”

 

“If you think you have _any_ leverage here, then you are sorely misled.”

 

“I’m not trying to threaten you.” He paused. “Not yet, anyway. I don’t have a reason. I’m just trying to figure out how afraid of you I should be.”

 

“Morn really had her work cut out for her, didn’t she.”

 

“You know she’s not Falx, right? Not anymore.”

 

Ella stared at him and saw his pulse was steady and his eyes didn’t lie. “Falx doesn’t let people go.”

 

“They let you go.”

 

“If by ‘let me go’ you mean shoved me through a back door in the slave market.”

 

“Okay, but they still let you go.”

 

“Morn would be dead, if that was the case. I was an unusual circumstance.”

 

“So you were lucky.”

 

“I didn’t say that.” She sighed, tapping the mark absentmindedly. “There just isn’t much of a market for ex-Falx. Everyone knows what that means, and no one wants a slave that’s disobedient _and_ trained to kill you in the quickest way possible.”

 

“Do you still have the brand?”

 

“ _What?_ ” Her head shot up to find him staring, a little wide-eyed, at a patch of exposed flesh on her arm.

 

“I mean, you must’ve… never mind.”

 

They were silent, for a while, and Ella heard the flicker of fire, the whisper of the wind, and the soft mutterings of people who had not yet fallen asleep. Quen broke the quiet.

 

“I need to go back to her.”

  
“I can’t let you do that.”

 

“ _Why?_ ”  
  
“You know where we are.”

 

“Well whose fault is that? You’re the one who brought me to–“

  
“This camp moves. I mean you know that we’re still alive, and in the mountains. That we’re on the move.”

 

“I won’t tell.”

 

“You won’t have a choice. They have ways. If it was Morn, maybe, but you…”

 

“I’m strong. She’s my _sister_ , we’re related.”

 

“We fought together, killed together, and suffered together. I took beatings for her, and her for me. Each of us knew when the other was weak and compensated. We were a _team_. I am closer to her by bonds of pain and steel than what you could ever have by simple blood.”

 

“And still… you owe her nothing.”

 

“There are no debts in Falx. No loyalties. When the time came, she let me go.”

 

“Okay. Okay.” He paused, eyes flickering down, then up again. “But I’m still–“

 

“Strong? It’s not strength. You don’t stand against the pain, you bend with it.” She sighed deeply, rubbing her face with the heel of her palm. “What I’m saying is that I have _years_ of training, both in the classroom and on the field. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that _everyone_ breaks, in the end.”

 

She heard footsteps in the snow, and glanced up. A few of the Nightingale’s agents hovered at the edge of the campfire, and Ella stood.

 

“We’ll talk later,” she said, motioning for them to come forward. Quen hesitated as they lifted him to his feet, even as they began to steer him away before he looked her in the eye, and nodded.

 

Ella sighed, plopping back down on the log, head in her hands. It would take a long while to fall asleep with the thoughts racing across her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, but the summer's been a little busy and this chapter killed me. In the end I just did what I wanted to do in the first place. I'm worried that this is getting a little too off canon/chock-full of original characters for people's tastes, but ah well. If there's confusion/annoyance, don't hesitate to leave a comment or message me and I'll strive to make the writing more clear, but there is supposed to be a bit of mystery around it still.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading, and if you like leave a kudos and a comment!


	26. The Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that, life's a real pain in the ass. Also sorry, this chapter might be a little rough, but I really just want to get it up here and out of the way so I can move on.
> 
> Trigger warning for an allusion to torture? It's blink and you'll miss it, probably wouldn't even notice if I hadn't said anything, but I feel like I should say it anyway just in case.

Her back was aching, again.

 

It hadn’t troubled her in a long while; too much to do, to worry about. But now the tasks ran short. The trek was long and arduous but nothing could truly be done but endure; and even when there _was_ something to do, people would hardly let their _precious_ Herald pick up a shovel or lift up a wagon. There was only so much patrolling she could do before they grew concerned, and so she was left to pacing along the long line of wagons until her feet grew numb in the hopes that it would drive the thoughts from her mind and the soreness from her scars.

 

She caught herself rubbing at her wrists for perhaps the hundredth time when the Nightingale approached her. Well, fell into step beside her would be more accurate; the Nightingale never did anything so mundane as _approach_.

 

“Your friend is stubborn, but he hasn’t posed a problem or a threat,” she said. Ella flexed her hand, cracking her wrist.

 

“He wouldn’t. I trust you haven’t done anything… untoward.”

 

“There is no reason for such actions, as of now.”

 

“Of course.” Ella glanced up and over the nearing snow banks, bringing up a hand to shield her eyes from the white glare. “I apologize for this inconvenience, but I felt the benefits could outweigh the risks.”

 

The Nightingale nodded. “So long as he continues to be so docile, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

 

“Then what did you wish to talk about?” Ella asked, eyes narrowing.

 

“Your past.” _Ah_. The Nightingale had seemed to recognize her desire to abandon this game of pretenses. “More than ever, the people see you as a beacon of light; if there is something in your no doubt colorful history that might damage this view, we need to know.”

 

Ella didn’t ask why. _Damage control_. She respected it, but… “There is nothing of interest.”

 

“I beg to differ,” said the Nightingale with the faintest of scoffs. “I understand your desire for anonymity, and I have tried to respect it, but the Inquisition can’t afford it anymore.”

 

“ _No_ , you’ve just hit a dead-end in your _digging_ ,” Ella snapped before she could leash her tongue. A sigh, and she rubbed at her wrist again, twisting her fingers around the joint. “Did it ever occur to you that you found nothing because there is nothing _to_ find?”

 

“Of course it did.” The Nightingale’s voice was strained, for a moment, but she covered it well. “However, I find it more likely that you are simply adept at covering your tracks.”

 

“I’m glad you think so highly of me,” said Ella with a grin. The Spymaster was not amused.

 

“Many of our records have been lost with Haven. Just because I have not found anything _yet_ does not mean that I wouldn’t have, given more time.”

 

“Let it go.”

 

“Unfortunately it is my job to do the opposite of that, Herald.” Her expression softened for a moment, but Ella was pretty sure it was just a play. “It would be easier if you just told us now.”

 

_it would be easier, pet    don’t struggle it will just hurt more   give up give up give up   it will all be better soon if you just give_

“ _No_.” No, no that was wrong. The breath between her teeth, the clench of her jaw, that wrinkle in her nose. She smoothed her face and calmed her heart. “I’m sorry, but there are things that… were not meant to be shared. Is that enough for you?”

 

“Ella…” _Oh boy_. Like a disappointed mother, why was she playing it like this? Like she _cared_? “I know you’re afraid, but-“

 

“I am _not_ afraid.” _No fear no fear no fear no fear no_

 

She stumbled in a particularly deep snow bank and winced as her back twinged. The Nightingale just pursed her lips.

 

“…Think it over. We’ll be here.” And then she was gone. Ella sighed, arching upwards with a satisfying _pop_ of her back. That woman never did things by halves.

 

 _Am I being selfish?_ The thought was odd, because _of course I am, I’m always selfish, I’ve never done a Good Thing in my life_ but still it struck her, needled at her like a stone in her shoe. At this point, was it selfish to keep so much to herself? Before it hadn’t mattered; _she_ hadn’t mattered. But now…

 

Selfish was good. Selfish kept her alive. Selfish and running.

 

And booze.

 

 _Fuck_ she needed a drink. Dry ever since Haven, and that was a _long_ time. Sure, she’d gone a lot longer without one, but never when she was… when she was out in the world.

 

Something about alcohol muffled the pain, both inside and… _more inside, I guess_. It deadened the nerves in her back and numbed the bones in her wrists until everything was hazy and sweet and she knew she wouldn’t remember the dreams.

 

She should have heard him come up behind her, and it was a testament to how lost in thought she really was that she actually _jumped_ when he started speaking.

 

“You good, boss?”

 

_Fucking piece of shit mother-_

 

She flashed the Iron Bull a grin. “Other than the constant fear of imminent death by Archdemon, you mean?”  


“Saw you talking to Red.”

 

“We were just discussing the weather. Wondering if it would be miserable and cold or cold and miserable.”

 

“Thought complaining about the cold was the ‘Vint’s thing.”

 

She hated that he said that. She hated it a lot. “I didn’t realize you were keeping score.”  


He seemed to realize. “Not a contest. Don’t think anyone’s feeling particularly warm and toasty.”

 

“Yeah…” she rubbed a hand across her face with a sigh. “I need a drink.”

 

“Don’t we all.”

 

She just grunted, wincing a little as she rolled out her wrist again. Little tufts of snow began to drift past them, and Iron Bull sighed as Ella drew up her hood.

 

“Boss?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You know you can talk to us, right?”

 

Ella tried unsuccessfully not to bristle, hand jerking towards her dagger before she forced it back.

 

“Ella…”

 

“I don’t need an ear; I need a drink.”

 

“Well you’re shit out of luck, then,” he said with the air of someone throwing his hands up. “We have tea. That’s it.”

 

“I _know_ ,” muttered Ella. “But I need a _drink_.”

 

They were both silent for a while, the snowfall growing thicker as Ella marveled at Bull’s lack of outerwear. He _was_ wearing a shirt, but he still refused to cover his arms for some forsaken reason.

 

“Hey, Boss?” Almost hesitant, he reached up a hand to scratch at his horns.

 

“Yes?” she asked warily.

 

“I was talking to Stitches…”

 

Ella felt a wrinkle in her nose. “ _Please_ go on.”

“There’s no need for _that,_ ” said Bull, rolling his eye. “He just mentioned some­­­–"

“Spit it out.”

Iron Bull grunted. “Old scars. Said that they needed taking care of.”

A pain in her back, because of _course_ , and Ella’s fingers twitched with the effort of keeping them off her wrists. “They _are_ taken care of.”

“That is the most… Boss, lies are supposed to be believable.”

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped. “It’s the way it is. I live with it.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want you to say.”

Ella didn’t say anything, just a wordless sound of frustration. Bull sighed.

 

“Look, Stitches seemed to think otherwise. That’s all. And…” He hesitated again, and Ella narrowed her eyes. _What’s the play?_ “I know a little bit about scars. There are some ways to make the pain a little… less.”

 

“What does it even matter? They don’t affect my work.”

 

“Yeah, but isn’t your health important?”

 

She couldn’t find words, because the right answer, the one that sprung to her mind first, was the wrong thing to say. She knew that. But she couldn’t just say ‘Yes, of course’; the words were caught in her throat, flies in a web. Just silence, but that was wrong as well. _Kaffas_.

 

“I will… consider the options,” she muttered.

 

He grinned, that infuriating thing that just teetered on the edge of asinine and still it tugged at the corners of her own lips, drawing them up until she was smiling too, _damn it, why am I smiling?_ She had just been cowed, humiliated, defeated. Ella scraped it from her face, forcing her features to a scowl that felt hollow, somehow still in jest and… _what’s the play?_

 

“See you around, boss,” he said, and he was gone. Dust in the wind. Big, giant, Qunari dust. With horns. _Damn it, what’s the play?_

 

Still damage control, just like with the Nightingale. That was it, _that must be it_ , she was Herald, she was a figurehead, important, too precious to allow rust or ruin.

 

 _Must be_.

 

“Sometimes, people just do nice things.”

 

It was a testament to either her control or her distraction that she didn’t stab the boy. As it was, she nearly choked on her thoughts, hissing as the mark sputtered at her side.

 

“Sorry,” said Cole.

 

“S’alright,” she muttered, pressing a thumb against her palm, wincing at a pain that still felt strange and unnatural. Ella supposed that she’d never get used to that.

 

“You might, eventually.”

 

“ _Please_ don’t do that.”

 

“It’s… hard not to. You’re just so loud. So bright. Some things are hard to see, but some I can’t ignore.”

 

Ella sighed. “Is there anyway I could _stop_ being so… bright?”

 

“Solas might know.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“He wants to help you.”

 

“I’ve lived enough to know that I don’t want help from a mage.”

 

“That’s not true,” muttered Cole, his eyes narrowing. “The lies make it simpler, but they still hurt you. You shouldn’t­–“

 

“I don’t take orders from you,” hissed Ella, shrinking away. “I am not yours.”  


“I’m not claiming you. Just helping. Sometimes people just want to­–“

 

“The world isn’t that simple.”

 

“Maybe you just want to make it complicated, so there’s room for the masks and the boxes.”

 

Gone. Just… gone, literally vanished, one of the most disconcerting things Ella had ever witnessed. If Bull was dust in the wind, this kid was a single snowflake in a fucking blizzard. Had she even seen him in the first place? The fact that the others could confirm his presence was just as troubling as reassuring.

 

_What’s the play?_

 

He was a spirit. He had no play.

 

_What’s the play?_

He already had a body, he clearly was a spirit of Compassion; Ella knew enough about the Fade to understand that.

 

_But what’s the_

 

There was nothing he could want. No motive, nothing. Maybe he could turn into a demon later, but it wasn’t like that would be voluntary; helping her wasn’t a means to that end. At least she didn’t think so.

 

_The play what’s_

 

The kid just wanted to help.

 

_What’s the_

 

Ella was tired. Her back hurt, her wrists hurt, her feet and her ankles and her neck and her shoulders and her jaw and her fucking _fingernails_ ached and nothing could dull it. Well. She knew what could dull it.

 

There wasn’t a fight to pick here, though. Couldn’t knock someone’s mug off a table, couldn’t punch a guardsman, couldn’t even find a little skirmish at the edge of some war or another. Fuck, she _was_ some war or another. Wasn’t that a scary thought.

 

Hunting, maybe hunting. They needed food, right? Everyone always needed food. And food could fight back. The right food, anyway. She’d heard wolves in the pass, prowling at the edges of the campfire before quickly darting back into the safety of the woods.

 

Damn it, she didn’t want to pick a scrap with wolves. That wasn’t a fair fight. It was their home, there’d be no reason, and just… fuck. She’d feel worse afterwards.

 

Her fingernails hurt. That wasn’t even the cold, that was just… she supposed the other hurts had dredged that one up. _I am not weak_. She wasn’t, undoubtedly, because otherwise she wouldn’t be alive to have these aches in the first place.

 

They were setting up camp, sheltered from the wind by a cliff side’s rough embrace, and it was only when a man hastily relieved her of a pack of salvaged grain that she realized the day had come and gone. Typical.

 

They wouldn’t let her _do_ anything, not even volunteer to guard. Said she needed sleep, as if. She didn’t need sleep. What she needed was a job. A job and a fight, but she was getting neither.

 

Restless feet led her to a hasty set up that was the laughable excuse for a war room, and she loitered for a moment at the edge of an approach, wasting time by watching the breath drift from her lips and tapping the edges of her numbed fingers against her thigh before the Spymaster made it obvious that she had been spotted with a raised brow.

 

Ella took a few steps forward, bridging that gap until she could rest her hands against the rickety table, and as she traced a finger against the whorls in the grain she couldn’t banish the thought that someone might have died just so they could bring this piece of wood. That someone else could have been saved if she wasn’t so fucking incompetent.

 

Damn it, why was she spiraling? They were all there, and they were looking at her.

 

“Anything new?” she asked. Cullen shook his head, but it was the Spymaster who answered.

 

“We’re still sending out scouts, but none have reported anything of note.”

 

“Keep looking. We’re dead in the water here, unless we find something.” Oh no, that was too much authority. Ella forced back a wince, tapping her fingertips against the table instead as she searched for any signs of pushback or resentment. None, this time, but she needed to be careful; tensions were high, and she wasn’t in charge. Responsible, but not in charge.

 

Cullen just nodded, offering a strained smile to her and the others. “Hunting parties have had limited success, but food is still running low. These are farmers and woodworkers, not survivalists. There have… already been deaths.”

 

“I know,” said Ella, drawing all of the emotion out of that statement. _No weakness_. She knew because she had seen it, the bodies slowly falling out of step as if drowning in air, collapsing under the weight of their own flesh. _No weakness_. “But we have to press on. There isn’t another choice.”

 

“We could request aid…” began the Ambassador, but Ella cut her off.

 

“From whom? Anyone who might have supported us is either dead or seriously reconsidering their stance. And we can’t let the Inquisition fall apart just to please some noble.” They were still needed; that Tevinter bastard was still out there. And he was going to _burn_.

 

“Stubbornness isn’t worth lives,” Josephine snapped, her calm veneer cracking under the strain of the past days. “We can’t afford to waste time on lofty ideals when people are dying. Maybe… maybe we should admit that we have lost.”

 

“ _We haven’t lost_.” She couldn’t tell them about the fortress. Too much explaining, too much risk, and she didn’t even know if Solas was telling the truth or not. The mage may have earned the bare minimum of trust, but she still didn’t know him. They needed to keep going, thought; she needed to see this through. To the end. “Haven might be gone, but we’re still alive. _The Inquisition_ is still alive.”

 

High tensions made for circular arguments and they broke after a few hours having accomplished nothing, as usual. Why she was involved in these discussions at all was baffling to her, but she supposed it was encouraging; figureheads usually didn’t have a say in how things were run.

 

She dropped in on Quen, briefly, brushing past the guard and ducking into the small tent where he sat, hands cuffed together by bands that glowed with strange runes; magic-suppression. Where they had found the things she had know idea, but the fact that she was grateful for them made her feel nauseous.

 

“How’s it going, oh illustrious Herald.” Oh, great, he was awake.

 

“Not your business,” muttered Ella as she knelt by his side, roughly grabbing his chin to tilt his head, examining the skin intently.

 

“Well, most people buy me dinner first.”

 

Ella was silent, and Quen shuffled uncomfortably before she released him with a sigh, reaching down to grab his hands and pull back his sleeves, running a thumb along one forearm.

 

“I’m just making sure nothing… unsavory is going on.”

 

Quen just looked at her, and she sighed again, dropping the arms.

 

“It wouldn’t be the first time. But you don’t seem to have any bruising. Do your sides hurt?”

 

“I would tell you if something happened.”

 

“Are you sure? Or would you stay quiet and simmer. Use it as an excuse to hate me, and use _that_ as an excuse to wish me harm in some ill-considered escape attempt.”

 

“Do you… do you _hear_ the things you say?”

 

“Like I said,” Ella said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

“That implies that _you’ve_ done that. And you’re clearly not the norm, so I wouldn’t be worried.”

 

“Yes, well, you’re clearly an overgrown child, so I suppose I shouldn’t be concerned about your silence when it comes to any discomfort.”

 

The corner of his mouth twitched up, and Ella held back a scowl as he spoke. “Have I hit a nerve?”

 

“I don’t know why I bother,” she snapped, standing briskly. “It’s not as if you’re a friend.”

 

“Well, that may be true, but it doesn’t seem like that’s something to hold against me, you know? Not a lot of people in that club, are there?”

 

“For good reason.” Ella left in what could be described as a huff, trying to ignore the way her skin itched and her _nails_ why were they still… fucking _damn_ it. Out of everything, _that_ was what had stuck?

 

She needed to talk to Solas. There, that was something she could do, something to keep this strange pain at bay. The elf was always so hard to find anyway, maybe she would have to work at it.

 

No, he was just by the fire. Sipping from a cup. How disappointingly mundane. Well, at least he was alone.

 

“Greetings, Herald.”

 

“I need to speak with you.”

 

“Well, fortunately, that’s what you’re doing at this very moment.”

 

Ella sighed, rubbing at her face. “Hilarious. Varric’s nickname was apt.”

 

He actually _smirked_ , hiding it unsuccessfully behind his mug. “What is it?”

 

“This… fortress. Are we close?”

 

“Very. Maybe a day or two more before our scouts find it.”

 

“Are you _sure?_ ”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _How?_ ”

 

“I’ve seen it,” he said simply. Ella growled in frustration.

 

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a normal dream?”

 

“There is no such thing.”

 

“You know what I meant. It’s real?”

 

“Yes, it’s real. Have some trust.”

 

“You may have noticed, but that’s not really my style.”

 

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” She could have sworn that he rolled his eyes, but the fire was playing its usual tricks. “Just wait a couple more days, and then you can string me up for treason.”

 

“I’m not going to… thanks, Solas.”

 

“No issue, Ella.”

 

Great, well, that solved nothing. As she walked away from the fire she felt the pain flare up again, more insistent than before. It was a distraction, a fly hovering at the edge of her vision; except flies didn’t come with blood and baggage, and flies couldn’t make her wrists lock up so that she had to twist them around with an unsettling _crack_. Her fingernails. Kaffas, she wasn’t sleeping tonight.

 

But she had to lie in bed. It was part of the ruse, part of the mask, part of everyone’s insistence that she play at being human. Lie in bed while others took guard duty, and stare at the canvas ceiling, counting when it was rustled by the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, character development? I'm already on the next chapter, so hopefully that'll come out really soon. Thanks for bearing with me! As always, any and all feedback is appreciated. If I haven't responded to a comment don't worry, I've read it and I love it, I'm just awkward.
> 
> Just as another heads up: the next chapter will open with a more specific description of torture. It's not particularly graphic, but it warrants a warning. Feel free to comment or message me with any questions about it! I just want to make sure I don't mess with someone.


	27. Nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, this is a long one, but they just kept talking, you know how it is.
> 
> TW for a graphic description of torture? You can probably guess by the title, but it's not super great. Also TW for a panic attack and coming out of one.

Her fingernails. She had known that was going to fuck her over.

 

Ella couldn’t remember exactly when she’d fallen asleep, but it had been a mistake, that was for damn sure. Shit shit _shit I’m slipping I_

 

_She was cold, which was odd because she could feel the heat of the fire at her back. Behind her, just at the fringes of sight. Not a good sign. Where was she sitting? First things first: she was sitting. She was sitting on a chair._

_Another bad sign: she couldn’t move her hands. She tried to look down, to see what was holding them there, but found that her head was much the same. Ah. There’s the third._

_Everything was off. Distant. Hazy. Drugged?_

_Out of the corner of her eye she saw a table. She didn’t like what she saw on the table._

_And suddenly a man. Where did he come from? Didn’t matter, doesn’t matter, suddenly a man faceless but somehow staring. Voiceless but he spoke, and she shuddered at the meaning of the not-words. Everything was off._

_No no_ no this wasn’t real. She was dreaming _I’m dreaming I am_

 

_She was screaming. No. No she wasn’t; don’t let them see the weakness. No, she wasn’t screaming, because she was better than that. Better than this, **why am I here?** Panic filling her lungs drowning drowning drowning drowning why am I_

_She was cold. But the fire, the fire behind her, she knew what that was for, and maybe that was why she was cold. A shifting of iron, she knew it was iron but she couldn’t help but think of snakeskin against stone, a shuddering rasp that_

_What do you want what do you want what do you want from me?_

_It didn’t matter; she wouldn’t give it. That was the code, the principle. Stubborn._

_She could smell it before anything else, the smell of burning flesh. Unsettling, because it wasn’t quite as foul as it should have been and yet it still was **off something’s off**_

Dreaming. This is a dream, stop falling fal _ling falling_

 

_Burning hissing agony agony I will not scream. I will not give them the satisfaction. I will not be a **spectacle**. _

_The way the iron pressing into her arm was almost dispassionate, but the hand that grabbed her face was not, twisting at her head, baring her cheek and fuck fuck fuck_

_White hot pain. Sparks of fire in her vision, she closed her eyes but she could still see the glow, still feel her skin peel and wither against the iron’s press, melting and burning fuck fuck fuck_

_I will not scream; even as her head jerked to the side, even as the fingers dug into her chin, nails biting to keep her still_.

 

The fingernails. The _fucking fingernails_

_Suddenly it was gone, still burning but gone, somehow. Time was melting, falling into itself in a blurry kaleidoscope of pain and cold and dark and_

_The image sharpened. Fine details, too many, an overload of information because even though she couldn’t see anything but what the movement of her eyes alone allowed, everything was crisp and in focus, the floors, the walls, the fire behind her and the cooling iron on the floor._

_The table. A hand brushed over it almost delicately, dancing across the array of tools before settling on one._

_She knew what was going to happen, and that somehow made it worse, so much worse, because the helplessness of it all was enough to make her sick, the waiting the waiting the waiting for something to happen, something she knew was going to happen but she could do nothing, always nothing._

_Once again, the pain was secondary, somehow absent as she saw but didn’t see, felt but didn’t feel the blade dig under her nail, wrenching it free from the bed almost lazily. A weak clatter as it hit the stone, and then there was the fire. She would not scream. She would not._

_The copper taste of blood in her mouth and she wondered how, how was that so when the only blood was at her fingertips. How, how, how, but she would not scream and oh, yes, that had consequences. She couldn’t free her lip from her teeth, couldn’t help but flinch at another press of the blade._

_Every nail would be gone by the time this was over. She knew that. How did she know that?_

 

Wake up you idiot, wake up wake _up wake up_

_It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the pain and the fire and the cold and the dark and the silence._

 

 

 

Bull was hovering. Quite a sight, that: the giant of a qunari wavering at the edge of a doorway, as if uncertain. He huffed. _As if_.

 

He blamed Stitches, really, for all of this. The sheer volume of disappointment that man could express in the squint of his eyes and a single twitch of his brows was second only to his Tama, and though Iron Bull could normally soldier past it, it seemed that the healer wasn’t willing to budge on this. This being Ella.

 

It didn’t matter how many times Bull told the man that she was _not_ interested, likely would never be interested, and in fact was probably so averse to the idea of actually treating her own body with any modicum of respect that she might rip his remaining eye out at the mere suggestion. No, of course, because Stitches was of a single and devoted mind, something that Iron Bull usually could respect. Now, however, he was hovering outside the Herald’s door because he was caught between self-preservation and a disappointed healer. Damn it.

 

Well, at least there was one thing he could be sure of: he definitely wasn’t waking her up. It seemed like the Boss didn’t know _how_ to sleep. Bull knocked at the tent pole, careful not to accidentally push over the piece of wood. He stepped back a little, to give her space; she’d be more amenable if he didn’t force her to look up at him right away. At least, he hoped. That, or she might think him to be patronizing her, trying to play her. Damn, it was always fucking eggshells with that woman.

 

He simmered for a few moments, and stepped forward to knock again. It… shouldn’t take such a long time to get up and pull back the tent flap; the tent was, while bigger than some of the others, still just a _tent_ , and could only take a few footsteps to cross.

 

 _Well, if she doesn’t want to be bothered…_ Bull shook off the uncomfortable feeling that he was being a coward. Something else, too, that he couldn’t quite place; something like disappointment, something that rankled at him, so he ignored it and focused on _coward_. It wasn’t his fault that the Boss didn’t want to talk to anyone. There. Not a coward.

 

As he turned, Iron Bull caught the telltale crackle of magic. He whirled back around, catching another flicker of the mark. Well, flicker wasn’t quite the right…

 

The thing was fireworks. Like Rocky when he got too excited about a wall that needed tearing down. Like fucking _gaatlok_. That was a tell, he knew that was a tell, it meant that she was upset, or nervous, or angry; but she was just lying awake in her room. She was _always_ just–

 

Clearly she wasn’t. There was no sound of struggle, so he could assume that there was no one else inside. Well, that meant she must be sleeping. Aw, shit, he _really_ didn’t want to wake her up.

 

 _Coward_.

 

Ignoring the obvious risk to his face, he knew she didn’t like it when people saw her sleep. Or heard her sleep. Something like that, something about sleeping, she hated it. He thought it had something to do with feeling weak or exposed, and he didn’t want her to be even more wary of him. How was he supposed to do his job if she hated him?

 

The light was moving. She was thrashing, and he was still hovering. Frozen. Fucking damn it, the Iron Bull did not _freeze_.

 

Bull ducked inside the tent.

 

 

 

 _She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She wouldn’t be a **spectacle**_.

 

 

 

She was muttering. Nothing coherent, but he could make out a few words. Muttering between gritted teeth, and as her hand flashed once more, in the light he could make out streaks of red at her lip, in her snarl.

 

 

 

_Couldn’t move, not her head not her legs not her arms her hands her wrists and her fingers clenched against the pain, trying to dig into the wood but with what with what?_

 

 

 

And she certainly was thrashing. Limbs tangled in the blanket, hands clutching at anything before reaching for something else. It was like she was drowning. Bull took a step closer, kneeling down beside her before hesitating.

 

 

 

_It was cold and dark and she couldn’t move her head but she could see everything. Everything but his face; why couldn’t she see his face? But no, no she could see everything, the rough stone walls the half-finished floors the blood the blood she could see the_

 

 

 

He needed to wake her up, obviously. She was hurting, having a nightmare or worse, some freaky demon shit because who knew _what_ that mark was doing to her. But he didn’t want to startle her, and he certainly didn’t want her hurting herself, mentally or physically. He could have kicked himself; look at him, freezing again. But what was he supposed to _do_. In the end it was her eyes. Screwed up tight, creased around the edges like she was in pain, and suddenly all rationale flew out the window. He was waking her up, damn it.

 

 

 

Ella woke up with her elbows pinned to her sides and was, understandably, distressed.

 

She couldn’t move her arms, couldn’t wrench herself free, and kicking didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere. It was dark, it was _dark_ and she couldn’t see, really, because her eyes were closed or it was night or those strange flashes of green were blinding her; it didn’t matter, what mattered was that it was dark.

 

The arms around her–and they were arms, she eventually realized–tightened, although that might have been related to her heel connecting with something, maybe a shin. Or a knee. But they didn’t give, and in the haze of panic and fear and _pain so much pain_ Ella felt that to be a Bad Thing, or perhaps even a Very Bad Thing.

 

Her hands twitched, fingers straining for some purchase; not that it would matter, all her nails were gone. So she abandoned that pretense and tried to twist her head around, maybe bite down on a hand or an arm, perhaps a shoulder. Someone was talking, but she couldn’t make out words. Soothing tone. She would not be fooled.

 

No sound, though. Not from her. _I will not scream_.

 

A growl deep in her throat, a rumble that scared even her, and she _wrenched_ herself to the side, loosening the vice-like grasp just enough that she could slip onto the ground, whirling around and striking out, catching anything she could with–

 

There was something caught beneath her nails. Blood, skin, flesh, there was–

 

“Bull?” She sounded pathetic. _Spectacle._

 

“Hey, Ella.”

 

“What are you–?“ Angry, not breathless but angry, she needed to be angry, that was the play. “What are you doing here.”

 

“Wanted to talk to you about something, figured you’d be awake.” Why was he so calm? He had no right, being so calm. “You weren’t,” he added lamely. Still calm, still cool, couldn’t get a read _what’s the play what’s_

 

“I can’t feel my hands.” That was true, but _why did I say that?_

 

“Okay.” It didn’t sound okay. “Okay.”

  
She still couldn’t really… see. Everything was bright and _dark_ and so blurry, too many shapes crowding her vision.

 

Something cold was pressed into her palm, and she jumped half and inch. “How about now?” asked Bull. She knew it was Bull. How did she know that?

 

“I can’t… I…” It was a dull sort of chill, like ice seeping through your gloves, but at least it was _something_. She latched onto that something, tried to find stable ground as she felt herself flounder in shapes and shadows. “S’cold.”

 

“Yeah, it would be.” She thought he might be… laughing? A chuckle, it was a chuckle. _He’s laughing at you, because you’re pathetic._ Well, she supposed that made sense. “Do you want to sit down?”

 

Ella hadn’t realized she’d been standing, but she supposed that made sense, as she didn’t remember sitting. _Do I want to sit down?_

 

“…what?” Ah, yes. _Very intelligent._

“Hey.” There was something at the side of her face. And something at the other side. Ergo, someone was holding both sides of her face. _Brilliant deduction_. “Hey, can you hear me?”

 

What a ridiculous question!

 

“I… maybe…?”

 

What a ridiculous answer!

 

“Okay, Ella, I want you to focus.”

 

She didn’t want to focus. Focus was bad; focus made the pain more sharp. You were supposed to drift, let it be blurry.

 

“Ella, look around you.”

 

She didn’t want to. There was a rule, there was a code, _never give them what they want don’t answer questions don’t give in **ever**_

 

“No.” Well, at least she was being firm.

 

“Ella…” Something was rubbing against her face. Maybe a thumb. It felt kind of nice. “Please.”

 

“…okay.” _What happened to being firm?_

 

She tried to look around, but it just made her dizzy; everything was blank and same, like being underwater, and she started having trouble finding up and down, clutching at something anything _fuck_.

 

“Ella.” Her eyes snapped back to the voice. “I want you to name five things you can see. Okay? Just five things.”

 

Simple, easy, she had five fingers, she could see those. The hands left her head as she glanced down, but

 

“I can’t.” A whisper, harsh and real and _damn it he isn’t supposed to hear that, no one is supposed to hear that_.

 

“Why not?” So _fucking_ patient.

 

“It’s all…” Everything was blurred, and trying to pull it into focus was like shoving yarn through a needle meant for thread. More and more frayed as she tried to jam everything into place. Except

 

“There’s a fire.” Another whisper.

 

“There isn’t a fire in this tent, Ella.” Why was he lying? Why was he saying that name?

 

“…tent?”

 

“We’re in a tent right now. Do you see this?” Something was definitely in front of her face.

 

“I… it’s a dagger.”

 

“Right. Good. Only four more, okay?”

 

“There’s… there’s a blanket.” She pointed at it, tossed and tangled and threadbare and so _itchy_. “The tent pole, and… and that quill and that book, and a table and that–“

 

“Good. Good, you did it.” She could see him, now, not quite sharp but a little more clear. _What’s the play_ , but it was quiet. He was louder.

 

“Now, how about four things? Four things you can touch.”

 

Four, of course, that was easy, that was less than five.

 

“It’s cold.”

 

“I know it is, Ella, but you can–“

 

“The collar.”

 

He fell silent, and she felt that she had done something wrong. Suddenly she very much did not want to do something wrong.

 

“Hey, hey it’s okay, it’s okay, relax, I got you.” There were hands on her arms, and she realized that she had been babbling frantic apologies, so she stopped doing that. “The collar is one thing.”

 

“It’s always there.”

 

“I know, I know, but how about three more? Just three more.”

 

She reached for her wrists, but he grabbed her hands before she could rub at them. “Um.” _Really selling your eloquence here._ “My… my fingers they… _my nails_ …” she was _whining_ now, what a fucking

 

“What’s wrong with your nails?”

 

“Gone.” _Oh, how about you just spill everything while you’re at it? Hi my name is Ella and I’m both physically and emotionally damaged, irreversibly, how are you today?_

 

He rubbed his fingers over hers. “Looks like they’re still here to me.”

 

Lies, lies, _lies_ but she could feel the tips of his fingers, could feel that he was right, could feel

 

“I feel your hands.”

 

“Good, that’s–“  


“They’re warm.” _Remarkable observation_.

 

He laughed again, and it was too nice. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Just two more things.”

 

“My hair, I can feel it on my neck, I need to cut it. And the knife I keep inside my shoe. It moved in my sleep.”

 

“Of course it did.” He sounded amused, but not in a way that made her nervous, like Falerius or Varus or that one with the mustache or– “Okay, now just three things that you can hear.”

 

Simple, simple.

 

“Your voice.”

 

“Yeah, that’s one.”

 

“The…” _Shifting of iron on fire, splinter of bone, shuffle of feet on the unfinished floor and_

  
“I’m right here, Ella. You’re right here.”

 

“The wind, on the tent.” A crackle of green at her palm, and she hissed. “And the mark.”

 

“Alright, I guess that counts. We’re almost done, okay?”  


“Okay.”

 

“Just two things, that you can smell.”

 

The world was sharper, now, everything a little more in focus and as time passed Ella felt more and more like the most pathetic and worthless idiot in the world, but it was a feeling that she could _hear_ herself actively suppressing, as if she wanted to stave it off for as long as possible. Smell. Two things.

 

“Sweat.” It was true. Like she’d been sleep running, or something. “And… weapon oil. For my daggers.”

 

“Great. Last one: just one thing that you can taste.”

 

“Blood.” It was in her mouth, on her lip, probably dripping down her chin. That was an obvious one.

 

“Okay.” He took a deep breath, and as Ella could feel his chest expand she realized that she was pressed against it. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” she repeated.

 

Bull sighed. “Want to sit down?”

 

“Sure.”

 

They did, although it took a bit of doing, fitting both of them on the tiny cot. There was a lot more skin contact than Ella normally would have liked, but at this point…

 

“Well.” He made a strangled noise half way between a sigh and a chuckle. “Stitches was riding my ass, so I came here to ask you about, you know, actually caring for your injuries for once. Again.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But then, obviously, got kind of distracted.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Ella,” he said sharply, and she jumped a little before settling. Silence, and he tried again. “This is why you don’t sleep.”

 

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer. He sighed.

 

“I knew that you probably had nightmares, but this is–“

 

“A little much, yeah.” Everything was still far away. Sharp, real, but far away.

 

“No. No, I just… shit, Ella, I’m sorry.”

 

“ _Why_ are you _sorry?_ ”

 

“I should have realized–“  


“Don’t pull that shit. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want _anyone_ to know.”

 

“You’re not the only one who has trouble sleeping.”

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, crossing her arms.

 

“I’m just saying that there are people you can help.”

 

“I’m a little past ‘help’, Bull.”

 

“Don’t say that,” he said, so softly that she was sure it must have been a mistake. But no, he kept going. “No one is ‘past help’.”

 

Ella sighed, placing her head in her hands. “…Thank you, Bull. Thank you for… that. But it was a mistake, and it won’t happen again, so if you’d please could you just–“

 

“What, leave? You’re never going to get better if you just bottle this up and leave it to fester.”

 

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I knew I shouldn’t have slept tonight, I just made a _mistake_ and–“

 

“ _Sleeping_ is _not_ a _mistake_. Look, there have been times where I’ve had to stay awake. There’s staying up for a mission, or to take guard duty, but then there’s _this_. I’ve seen it before, and it always ends up getting someone killed.”

 

“Oh, so now I’m _selfish?_ ” She was, she knew that, so why did it sting so much?

 

“That’s not what I said.”  


“Yes, it is.”

 

“You’re twisting my words because you don’t like what I’m saying.”

 

“No. You know what?” She stood, unable to keep still for any longer. “I’ll tell you _exactly_ what I’m doing.”

 

“Please, enlighten me.” He stayed seated, not that it really mattered. Fucking mountain of a man. His arms were crossed too, now. Ella began to pace.

 

“I’m trying to keep your nose out of my business, because I know that somehow, someday whatever this _thing_ is, this _Inquisition_ , it’s gonna end, and when it does everyone’s gonna leave and I’ll be alone again, so I can’t afford to get attached to _anyone_ because at best they’ll be gone and at worst they’ll stick a knife in my back and strap me to a chair and have my fingernails pulled out one by one so I’m stuck keeping everyone at arm’s length by being just an unpleasant person in general, only I’m so good at it I’m pretty sure that even if I _wanted_ to make friends I wouldn’t be able to, and even _worse_ I don’t know who I am or _what_ I am and I can never figure it out for myself because it’s always on to the next _fucking_ crisis, isn’t it? Always the next big thing that I need to stab which I guess is good for me because it’s the only fucking thing I’m good at.”

 

Silence. She fucking hated silence.

 

There were hands at her wrists, and she realized several things at once. One: she’d been pacing. Two: she’d been scratching at her scars again. Three: Bull had stood. Four: that man was _fucking_ tall, holy shit…

 

Five: he was holding her hands. It was warm. It was nice.

 

“You’re not.” He hesitated. “An unpleasant person, I mean.”  
  
“Wow. Thanks.” She wasn’t speaking. That wasn’t her voice. That voice was far too confident, far too strong to be her voice right now.

 

“Ella…” He kept saying her name, _fuck_ why did he keep saying her name? “You know that it’s alright to… care about people, right?”

 

Moment of truth: could she fasten a mask, right now. Nice and tight and _here we go_.

 

“Of course.” Ella smiled, and it was a little forced but it was still pretty good, if she did say so herself. A little forced, of course, was not enough for the Iron Bull. His hands tightened around hers.

 

“I’m serious. And you should know that all of them.” He jerked his head towards the camp, towards the Inquisition. “They care about you too. _Fuck_ , I’m pretty sure Red’s been working herself to the bone between trying to keep this mess together and figuring out how to keep you safe. Solas is always looking at you with this… nervous concern in his eyes, like he thinks your sick or something and he doesn’t really know how to help. Varric, too. All his jokes, you think that’s just for his benefit? Him and Sera have a running count, a bet going on who can make you smile more often.”

 

“Bull, I…”

 

“No. No, you need to hear this. Ella, you need to fucking hear this, okay? Cullen thinks you’re brilliant, talks about you like you’re the best damn fighter he’s ever seen, wonders if you play chess, and he’s always sleeping less whenever you’re away. Blackwall; you remember Blackwall? You hardly even _speak_ to the man and he’d fucking die for you. She’s obviously never gonna say it, but Viv’s always got this look when she’s around you, when you talk to her. Josephine picks out _clothes_ for you, frets over you more than a fucking Tamrassan, did you not notice how she’s constantly asking about your health? About your safety? I don’t know _what_ Cole is but he obviously cares about you, at least a little bit. Honestly that whole situation freaks me out so I try not to think about it too much, but _fuck_ Ella! Even that damn _Vint_ , even though you are _constantly_ on his ass, he _wants_ your respect. He sees the people around you, how they treat you and he _knows_ that…”

 

“ _Bull_.” She didn’t know, she didn’t understand how she felt about this and she needed it to stop, needed _time_ to figure out how she was supposed to react–

 

“Ella we thought you were dead. It was shit. For _everyone_.” His hands were still on her own, still clutching them, and she felt like she should pull away but she didn’t. “We… I stood there. Just… there was nothing else to do but… I just stood there. Please don’t… do this to yourself because you think that no one’s here for you. You aren’t alone, anymore.”

 

“ _No_.” No no no, she _had_ to be alone. That was the only way, he didn’t “You don’t understand.” he didn’t understand, none of them could understand that she just “I have to be alone.”

 

His hands tightened around her own, and in his silence Ella could practically _feel_ him pulling himself together. “Why.”

 

Wasn’t it obvious? “I hurt people. Always.”

 

“I haven’t seen a lot of that, Boss.”

 

“Yes, you have.” And she was picking up the pieces too, frantically smoothing the lines of her face and the clench of her hand. “I see a problem, and I kill it.”

 

“Yeah, but to help.” Bull seemed genuinely confused. As if any issue with this hadn’t occurred to him.

 

“No, that’s not…” Ella held back a snarl, with limited success. “People around me get hurt. Either by me or…”

 

“By the guys after you?” he suggested softly, and though she didn’t flinch it was a close thing.

 

“Not exactly, but… in a manner of speaking.”

 

“If you think you’re gonna hurt us, it might help to actually tell us about what’s–“

 

“No, that’ll only make it easier for them.” She spoke too quickly, without thinking.

 

“Boss, we want to help you.”

 

“I don’t need your _help_ ,” she spat, treating the last word as if it was bitter and vile.

 

“Really?” Bull pulled back, crossing his arms. “Because last I checked you can’t sleep, won’t take care of your injuries, and throw yourself at the knives of people who are trying to kill you.”

 

“See?” Ella tried for a grin, tilting her head to the side. “I’m doing just fine.”

 

Bull sighed, reaching up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m begging you here, Boss. _Please_ , just let us–“

 

She didn’t need his pity. “Thank you for your time, the Iron Bull.”

 

It was a clear dismissal, and both of them knew that. Bull just snorted.

 

“Nope. Not tonight. We’re gonna talk about this.”

 

“Make me.”

 

“Maybe some other time.” He shot her a wink, that one-eyed wink that should have been ridiculous but somehow, against all odds, lessened the overbearing tension so that Ella stood a chance at breathing. “Let’s just sit down, and have a conversation.”

 

“You might have noticed, but I’m not particularly good at those.”

 

“Yeah, you are. You’re just not good at honest ones.”

 

“Ouch,” she said dryly, pulling out a stool. Why was there a _stool_ in her _tent_? What idiot had insisted on that, along with a small writing desk? They’d serve better as firewood; she could write on the ground, and she could sit when she was dead.

 

Iron Bull was right; she wasn’t good at honesty. A blessing, given how often the truth could get her killed. So this would be easy, to just give him what he wanted and then send him on his way. _Just lie, like always._ Easy.

 

Bull eyed the tiny stool, raising a brow, and Ella sighed. “I’m not sitting while you stand. That’d just be ridiculous.” The height difference was already enough to make her uncomfortable.

 

He shrugged. “I doubt that thing can even support _you_. How ‘bout this?” He gestured towards the ground in a sweeping motion, settling down as he did so. Ella’s nose wrinkled as she heard a telltale _pop_ in his joints, but she didn’t say anything, just sat down as well, cross-legged.

 

 _Breathe_. “What do you wish to discuss?”

 

“Well, first off, you need to talk to Red. And Josephine and Cullen. Maybe even some others, too.”

 

“ _Need_ is a very strong word.”  
  
“Alright, how ‘bout I _strongly suggest_ it, then?” he said, rolling his eye. “Trust me, it’s important to be honest with them.”

 

Ella snorted. “Awfully bold of you to be talking about _trust_.”

 

“Hey,” he brought a hand to his chest dramatically. “I’m a trustworthy guy. And I say you should talk to them.”

 

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll file that under _never,_ but thanks for the advice.”

 

“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but once things calm down a bit you should definitely–“

 

“You’re already sending all of this shit to Par Vollen. Those letters go through the Nightingale, unless I have more reason for distrust than I thought.”

 

“This isn’t letter stuff, boss.”  
  
She quirked a brow, crossing her arms. “What is it, then?”

 

“Just…” he sighed and reached up to scratch at a horn. “I’m here to send back information, convince them that Thedas isn’t gonna explode–which is a feat in and of itself–and to keep this Inquisition from falling apart.”

 

“And I fall into the latter part of this equation.” She supposed it made sense. She had the mark, she was vulnerable and _necessary_ , they couldn’t afford any slips when it came to that. Iron Bull nodded.

 

“So you _can_ trust me when I say this: you should go to them. Work this out, make some arrangements to make _damn_ sure that nothing hurts you again. Maybe even pull some strings, get some payback?” He flashed her a grin, but it was uneasy. Testing the waters.

 

“I don’t need revenge.” That was a lie. Well… no. She didn’t _need_ it. “And I don’t need _arrangements_. But I will… consider.” Damn that was hard to spit out, like the words got caught in her throat.

 

“Hey, that’s all I ask.” He shifted, knee creaking as he ignored Ella’s significant glance. “Another thing: came here to talk about old wounds. Stitches won’t get off my ass.”

 

“Of course. Not your fault, at all. It isn’t as if you’re his superior, or anything.”

 

“Healers call the shots when it comes to injuries.” He shrugged with a small grin. “A real pain sometimes, but that’s just usually how it’s done.”

 

“I’m not of your company, Iron Bull,” she said coldly. _I’m not yours_.

 

“Wasn’t saying you were.” His voice was easy, smooth, too casual. “But it’s a habit. Basically, he ordered me.”

 

“And what would he suggest? A hot bath? Aroma therapy? Perhaps a soothing massage?”  


“Hey, don’t knock massages, those things are great.” He reached into his pockets, and Ella tried to conceal how she stiffened, and more so how she relaxed when all he pulled out were a couple of smooth rocks.

 

“So you’re saying that I should sleep with these rocks beneath my pillow–“

 

“Don’t be an ass. They’re heat stones, see?” He turned one over, and indeed Ella could make out the faint spider-web lines of a rune inscribed upon it. There was a time where she’d have been able to smell that, taste it in the air, no matter how weak; was she truly so out of practice? Or was this something to do with the mark, and how it had affected the collar? Dark thoughts, for another time. Perhaps never.

 

“And so… I should activate the rune and _then_ place them beneath my–“  
  
“Stitches says you have a lot of old, deep scars. That you probably get a lot of aches.” He leaned forward, knee groaning as if to emphasize his point, and placed the rocks on the ground near her. “You can work through them with these, force out some of the tension. It’s not a cure-all, but it’ll at least help with the pain, and the stiffness.”

 

The pain kept her sharp. The pain helped her forget _the dark_ and _little sparrow_ and

 

Ella was scratching at her wrists, and she forced herself to stop. Okay, maybe _some_ of these pains were bad, hurts that brought her back into shadows and blood. Maybe those ones, she could finally send away instead of leaning into them over and over again like old friends, spiteful lovers. She reached out, taking one of the rocks and turning it over in her hands.

 

“Thank you,” she said after a reluctant pause. “Maybe I should… speak to Stitches?”

 

“Yeah.” Bull sounded relieved, but that couldn’t be real. No matter what he said, no matter what she thought, there was still _the play_. “Yeah that would be great.”

 

“…Anything else?”

 

“Nah, that was it.” There were a million other things, and they both knew it, but still he stood and stretched and yawned as if this had been the most boring night of his life. “Nice talk boss, look forward to another one.”

 

She nodded, and he left.

 

It felt cold, all of the sudden, and very empty, as if there was too much space for someone as small as her in that ridiculously large tent. Ella passed a thumb over the rock without really looking at it, activating the heat rune and letting that warmth seep into her palms, like when she was blind and scared and _Bull held her hands_

 

…fuck. No. Fuck. It was Cullen all over again, only she didn’t feel as if she was breaking apart, torn up by fierce waves, which somehow made it all worse. No spiral, no desperate thoughts and tightly woven masks. Just a warm rock that reminded her of how his fingers had felt against the back of her hand. No, she couldn’t let this happen again. She _would not_ let this happen again.

 

There was an easy truce, words and touches and carefully crafted smiles to play at friendship. This was not that. A line, a line and she’d crossed it, somewhere. Fuck.

 

Well that was it, she wouldn’t stray any further. No more of that, thank you; Ella was through with mourning. Any attachment she made was just a promise of future pain, she _knew_ this, and yet she kept on making the same mistakes over and over and over and

 

No. She could do this. Ella shuffled over to her cot, leaning back into the fabric and trying to ignore the stiffness of her spine. “I can do this.”

 

There were so many lessons, so many scars marking both her skin and her mind. Morn was one, but there were many others. So many others. No names, only faces, but so many that she was afraid to count them all for fear of disturbing those boxes in her mind.

 

 _Play at friendship, secure your own safety_ , she could _do_ that, she knew she could. Just save the world and then cut them out, cut _all_ of them out.

 

Ella closed her eyes, drifting back into the heaviness of slumber as her hand tightened around the stone’s warmth. “I can do this,” she whispered, and she almost believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! As always, thanks for reading, and for sticking with Ella on her perilous journey navigating the treacherous wastelands of "friendship", whatever that might be. Gonna get to Skyhold soon, get some action, yay, super fun. Plus more character development! Exciting!
> 
> I love the comments and kudos, sorry if I don't reply (it's probably because I didn't see it and feel awkward replying after so long) but it really warms my heart to see people enjoying this little thing.


	28. Skyhold

 

 

They had done it. _They had done it_.

 

Another miserable day of marching, arguing, stumbling through snowbanks that never seemed to end and _finally_ , as Ella exchanged heated words with Josephine while the cold was practically stabbing her in the lungs, the scouts reported back.

 

Skyhold.

 

Glorious, huge, wonderful, a little broken and beaten, but weren’t they all? It had walls and ceilings and the sight of it against the stark white horizon alone was enough to keep her questions at bay. Oh boy, but there were questions.

 

Ella found that, though she had insisted to the point of bared teeth and knives in tables, to the point of fury and exhaustion and stubborn silence that they were to keep going, that they _had_ to keep going, it wasn’t until she saw the keep itself that she realized a small voice inside of her had never really believed in it. All a show, an act in her desperate cycle of _keep running_ and _never again_. But now…

 

How had Solas known? In his dreams, yes, of course, some convenient mage bullshit that, surprise surprise, she had no way to verify. And the _longing_ , the relief and comfort in his eyes; the anticipation of return to a quiet hearth and home. Well, he was a bit of a hermit. Maybe he had just come across it, sometime in his travels? Maybe it had lent him shelter? _Why lie? Why the name?_ Perhaps he _was_ telling the truth. Perhaps she was just being paranoid.

 

Because she was. Being paranoid. Even Josephine, the soul of discretion, had commented on how jumpy she was at one of their morning meetings. Bull’s eye was on her, constantly, following the twitch of her fingers, how they strayed towards her knives. _Too easy_. Over and over, in her head, _too easy_.

 

But there was nothing, and that was almost the worse than something. Nothing lurked in the shadows (save the Nightingale’s agents, but in theory they were supposed to be there. Lurking). No eyes beyond the campfire’s light. The whispers she heard past the starlight? Just wind.

 

At the very least her fingernails had stopped itching, after what she had accurately dubbed the Disaster Night. Ever true to her word, Ella had visited Stitches. He had been… surprising. Not forceful, but firm. _Almost as if he’s had to deal with stubborn bastards before_. When she refused something outright, as if the very thought was foul and odorous, he didn’t press. Just dropped it, and moved on to the next option. _Huh. Wonder who he learned that from._ Clearly Iron Bull cared enough about his merc company to teach them a lesson or two.

 

That was another thing: the Iron Bull. She’d been successfully avoiding him with minimal effort (meaning he was allowing her to) and though that should have made her feel better it only made everything leagues worse. Sometimes Cole tried to talk to her about it, but the spirit still freaked her out enough that he avoided her, tried to keep her from unnecessary pain or whatever. Old wounds.

 

Too many thoughts in her head, too many worries and wonders and _what ifs_ to keep track of. It hadn’t been this way before, she’d never had to–

 

“You good there, Dancer?”

 

Ugh. She was doing that thing again, with her face. “Of course, Teapot! Couldn’t be good-er.”

 

“Yeah, you know, that’s what you’d think, with the giant castle falling from the sky and landing at our feet. And yet…” Varric feigned deep thought, hand at his chin. “For some reason that defies explanation, you’re twitchier than a nug’s ass.”  
  
“First of all, no one says that.”

 

“I say it, Dancer.”

 

“Case and point.”

 

“Ouch.” He didn’t sound hurt. Not even the decency to pretend, the bastard.

 

“Second of all,” said Ella, raising her chin. “I don’t get ‘twitchy’.”

 

“Alright, sure. I think you almost took a hand off that scout a minute ago, but sure.” Varric paused, for dramatic effect. “Can’t deny that look, though.”

 

“There is no look.”

 

“Yes there is! Hey, back me up, Sparkler.”

 

‘Sparkler’ would not ‘back him up’. No way in–

 

“It is rather long, to use the Southern expression.”

 

“See? And he would know what misery looks like, yeah Sparkler?”

 

“You’re rather more knowledgeable about the upper echelons of Tevinter society than I would have expected, Varric,” said Pavus, mustache twitching.

 

“Broody taught us a thing or two.”

 

Oh no, they were bantering. Ella sighed; was she in the mood for this?

 

“Aw, and it looks like Broody also taught _her_ a thing or two. What, is it an ex-slave thing Dancer? Or should I say Broody Two? Broody the Second?”

 

It was a risky joke, and he knew it, but despite herself Ella couldn’t help a smile. And then she _did_ notice how Varric caught Sera’s eye, flashed her a wink. How Sera stuck out her tongue and… oh my. Well, Ella assumed that that was a crude gesture. Although if it was anything sex-related, she pitied the next girl Sera took to bed.

 

Damn it. Bull had been right. That meant he could be right about everything else, too.

 

_I can do this_.

 

“Fenris, right?” she managed. Still smiling. _Wipe that damn thing off your face, you are a grown ass woman_.

 

“Yeah.” Varric’s mouth twisted. “Hey, did you–“

 

“Are you about to make the assumption that all slaves know each other? I am shocked, Teapot. Shocked and appalled.”

 

Pavus snorted, and for once Ella wasn’t seized by the sudden urge to strangle him. Baby steps? Varric chuckled.

 

“Sorry. You two are just a little similar is all.”

 

“Oh yes. Minus the lyrium tattoos. The gender. The ears. Very small things, but take them away and the similarity is _breathtaking_.”

 

“See, Broody had a sense of humor that snuck up on you, too.” Varric grinned. “Probably the only way he could put up with Hawke.”

 

He didn’t talk much about Hawke, but somehow she could tell that he was always thinking about her. Ella wondered for perhaps the 100th time why.

 

“Typically sarcasm and a dry wit are essential to surviving slavery,” she said without quite thinking it over. _Shit, no pity no pity no_ … he was laughing.

 

“Essential to surviving a lot of life’s bullshit.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” muttered Ella. A needling sort of silence that twisted at her mouth; damn was Varric persistent, and an expert in this sort of thing. _He might’ve have made a good spy, in another life_. The thought came unbidden. “Fenris… it was hard not to hear about it, you know? Rumors spread quickly, even from a household like that.” She snorted. “ _Especially_ from a household like that.”

 

“Yes, Danarius was… a deeply unpleasant man.” Pavus’s voice was unexpected, and even he sounded like he wasn’t sure why he was speaking.

 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Ella grumbled darkly. “Fucking bastard.”

 

“Fenris killed him, yes?” asked Pavus, and Varric nodded.

 

“Almost killed his sister too,” the dwarf added conversationally. “Hawke practically had to drag him away.”

 

“Because she betrayed him?” Ella said with a nod; she’d read the books, although some of what Varric put in them seemed either too personal or too far-fetched, but that… “Makes sense.”

 

“To kill your sister?” said Pavus incredulously, nose wrinkling as Ella shot him a glare.

 

“To tie up loose ends. She was an easily exploited weakness; Fenris had the right idea.”

 

“I’m not sure he was thinking it through that much, Dancer,” said Varric with a snort. “Elf was furious.”

 

“As he had every right to be,” Ella snapped. “The fact that his own sister would lead his former master straight to him is almost unthinkable.” Fuck, maybe that’s where the catch was? A traitor, a mole, a hunter waiting at their last camp to strike just as they reached the open expanse before the bridge… Ella forced her hands to still.

 

“Is loyalty like… a thing, then?” asked Varric tentatively. Ella sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

“No, no it’s not… of course you can’t blame someone for trying but I… he was _out_ damn it!” She fumbled for pitch and tone, the spiraling volume of her voice. “He should have been a hero, an inspiration, not a tool for her to move up in the world.”

 

“Is this coming from personal experience, then?” mused Pavus in a casual tone that Ella didn’t like much, as if she were a subject of quiet inspection.

 

“I don’t see how that’s your business,” she growled. “In any case, no. I’ve never quite had the misfortune. Not having a family makes things simpler, really.”

 

“Huh. Yeah, I guess I could see that,” said Varric, scratching his chin. “Still, seems kind of lonely.”

 

“Safe is worth being lonely,” she muttered. Talking too much, she knew, but really at this point… specifics would hurt her. Not this. “Watching your own back is difficult, but it makes up for… a lot.”

 

“I can’t imagine,” murmured Pavus, and Ella bristled.

 

“No. You can’t.”

 

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” he snapped. _Why_ wasn’t he arguing? Just kept agreeing, making her feel like a damn asshole. _He_ was the asshole. That was just… how dare he… keep…… agreeing.

 

“I should go…” Ella paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. “…check on the preparations. New keep, and all that.”

 

“You good, Dancer?” asked Varric with an easy grin. Ugh, because her face was doing that _thing_ again.

 

“Always,” she said, returning the smile. He nodded, but as she walked away Ella couldn’t help but notice the _looks_ they exchanged, and how they made her skin crawl. _Pity_.

 

She didn’t need pity, she needed closure. She needed to see the knife the drug the play before it all went wrong, before it was too late, and _why was he agreeing with her?_ He wasn’t supposed to, none of them were supposed to, they were all evil, all of them had deserved to _I didn’t do anything wrong_ they _deserved_ to

It felt like waiting for the next lash. That endless breath before they forced your head back underwater, the eternal darkness marked only by the harshness of your own breath and the clatter of iron doors. They always came back, always dragged you out for another round, that was simply the way of things. Even escape was just waiting to be caught again. A lull in the horror, a brief respite punctuated by quick, sharp, overwhelming agony when it all caught up to you.

 

It always went wrong, something was coming, something was _always_ coming and she needed to be ready for it or she was going to die. That was the way of things.

 

Words drifted past the cacophony of thought, important words. She had claimed to be checking up on preparations, after all, so apparently her feet had covered for her and carried her all the way to the “command” tent. Cullen, Josephine, Cassandra, and the Nightingale, all deep in conversation and considerably less stressed than when she had last seen them. Maybe that was because of her absence, she should just walk away and–

 

“Oh, Ella!” called Josephine, waving her over. The rest glanced up as well, and now she was noticing the way Cullen’s eyes lit up when he saw her, damn it, this was the worst. “We were just discussing logistics.” The Ambassador said that as if it was the most interesting topic in the world.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude–“

 

“Nonsense,” said Cullen. Ella sighed, and wandered over to the hastily set up table.

 

No map, this time, but papers scattered across the wood. Ella picked one up carefully. “What are these?”

 

“Treaties, possible alliances, merchant ties, requisitions, staff and crafters that we have and those that we are going to need to hire,” said Josephine excitedly. Ah, of course. This was finally her element. Ella smiled and nodded, putting the paper down.

 

“So it’s finally over,” she muttered.

 

“Thanks, in no small part, to you.” Cassandra leaned onto her hands, mouth quirking upwards as Ella scoffed.

 

“While I’m sure playing savior has its benefits for morale, there’s no way that you can claim–“

 

“You allowed us all to escape in the first place,” said the Nightingale softly, not even glancing up from the scroll in her hands. “Without you, we never would have made it out of Haven, much less through the mountains.”

 

“I did what anyone would do.”

 

“You think that ‘anyone’ would willingly march up to an Archdemon, bring down a mountain on herself, and live?” It was Cullen’s turn to scoff. “Apologies, Herald, but that seems unlikely.”

 

“Look.” Ella’s smile turned strained. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly. But… I haven’t done much of anything, really. You all have been organizing, pushing us forward. Everyone’s done their part.”

 

“Well that’s not… entirely true,” said Josephine, shrugging lightly as Ella leveled her with a glare. “It was you who insisted that we continue marching forward.”

 

“Yeah, because that was our only option!” Ella raised her chin, crossing her arms. “What are you all trying to get at?”

 

“Nothing,” said the Nightingale with a smile that insisted this was anything but. “Just observing what you will not.”

 

“Well stop,” said Ella, rifling through the papers once more. “Observing, I mean. I just did what I had to do; like the rest of us.” That was the way of things.

 

“Whatever you say.” The Nightingale glanced up at the sound of crinkling paper, but there was still that quirk in her lip. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

 

“Just trying to get an idea of where we are,” muttered Ella, eyes roving across a page before setting it aside and reaching for another. “We’re short staffed. Do we need someone to scout the castle?”

 

“I’m sure we can find–“ began Cullen, before the Nightingale cut him off.

 

“If you would like to do the honors, we can assemble a small team that can assist you,” she said. Ella narrowed her eyes, staring down the other woman to let her know that, while she was uncertain _what,_ exactly, was up, there was no doubt in her mind that it was _something_.

 

“That sounds good to me,” she said warily. “Anyone you had in mind?”

 

“It’s your team.” So noncommittal. As if she didn’t care, _what’s the play_?

 

“Sera, Iron Bull, Solas, Varric, maybe Cole. Would any of you be interested?”

 

“ _Me_ ,” said Cassandra, dropping her pile of papers with a little too much enthusiasm, earning her a glare from Josephine. She cleared her throat. “I only mean to say that, with the Commander being busy, I wouldn’t mind examining the fortifications up close.”

 

“Of course,” said Ella with a sly grin and a nod. “Well, what are we waiting for, then?”

 

 

 

It made sense. Sera was good at climbing, light on her feet. Solas was an expert on magic and the Fade; not to mention the one who had pointed her towards the keep in the first place, so it only seemed right. Varric was just good to have around, although she was loath to admit it. Iron Bull would be good muscle for anything unsavory they might find. Also a quick mind, he might be able to make something of their defenses, alongside Cassandra. And Cole was… well… Cole.

 

Of course, they would have to actually get into the keep, first.

 

“Are you sure that’s gonna hold?” asked Sera for perhaps the third time as they approached the bridge. A nice chokepoint. Easily defensible.

 

“Only one way to find out,” said Iron Bull cheerfully, axe slung across his shoulder. Ella sighed.

 

“I don’t see any cracks, everything looks pretty stable,” she said.

 

“There’s an old magic here, as well,” said Solas. “Perhaps it is maintaining the stonework?”

 

Ella let herself believe that it was the strong gust of wind that made her shudder. “Great,” she muttered. “Well, might as well get to it.”

 

Nothing had gone wrong yet, so that meant the bridge was going to collapse. What a thought to leap upon her as she cautiously picked her way across the stonework, what a thought indeed. No, it didn’t collapse. Well, on to the next possible disaster.

 

Ella sighed as they passed through the archway where surely the gates had once been, reveling in the brief respite from the wind… until it wasn’t brief. It was… warm. A wrinkle in her nose and she bent down, kneeling to drag a hand through the dirt. Dirt. Not snow.

 

“More magic?” she asked Solas. He just nodded, eyes elsewhere, and Ella groaned into her hands. _Fuck_ it pricked at her skin, little tingles at the back of her neck. Old, very old. Almost suffocating, like strong perfume, although just as with an overbearing scent she got used to it after a while. In the interim, though, Iron Bull was glancing at her, and how did he know something was wrong?

 

She shook that thought away, staring up at the impressive battlements and feeling a tug at her lip. “Oh, this will do nicely.”

 

“This bridge needs repairs,” said Cassandra. “Most of it is in good shape, though. That would make good training grounds, over there.”

 

“Fuckin huge,” muttered Sera, nimbly climbing across some scattered stonework. “Could fit some shitebag’s mansion in here a ‘undred times over.”

 

Ella was already climbing the stairs to the great hall. “Or an army worthy of the Inquisition, once.” She smiled, pushing open the reluctant doors with a screech of metal and sneezing at a cloud of… oh that was not dust. The magic was so strong, seeping into every stone and sliver, coming up in plumes as it was disturbed. _I can do this_.

 

A large hand clapped across her shoulder, nearly throwing her off balance as she glared up at Bull for a brief moment, then back into the hall.

 

Huge. Grand. A little tousled by age of course; but the arches, the banisters, the fucking windows that somehow remained against the test of time… majestic. _Yeah, I can definitely see us setting up here–_

No, what the _fuck_ , she couldn’t be thinking like that. What happened to seal the Breach and run? Oh, right, templars dragon avalanche. Now was the time, though. The debt was repaid.

 

Shit shit shit this was it, then. Still they wandered the hall, the shuffle of movement echoing across the cavernous expanse. This was where it went wrong. She would run, run far far away but they wouldn’t let her. Just a trick all along, a cruel game, _didn’t think they’d let you go that easily, did you?_ She had the mark, after all, first sign of flight they’d lock her up, leash her chain her _make_ her work for them.

 

They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t do that. Would they? Ella found herself staring towards Bull before she managed to drag her eyes away to studiously examine the masonry. No. They wouldn’t.

 

Fine, someone else, then. She’d leave and be snatched up immediately, surely there were eyes on them here, since the beginning always watching, always waiting.

 

She nearly jumped at the tug on her sleeve.

 

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” Cole, of course. “Sometimes things are just good.”

 

Ella scoffed. “Nothing comes without cost,” she muttered, catching Iron Bull’s curious stare out of the corner of her eye. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

 

“Yes you can. You should. You should talk to him, you always feel better.” He tilted his head, the action comically accentuated by his hat. “Well, for a little while. Then you’re just mad. Why are you mad for feeling better?”

 

“It’s not ‘feeling better’, it’s complacency. You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“There isn’t a knife, not in this darkness. Safe. Not walls closing in but the moonlit night.”

 

Open, wild, free, let the shadows be my shield and the stars my guide, the moon _she smiles at me_.

 

“I… thank you, Cole.”

 

The boy beamed, hat bobbing excitedly. “I helped! I helped the hurt, just like I said I would!”

 

“Please be quite.”

 

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

 

Ella sighed, striding away from him with purpose. Maybe… maybe he was right. She laughed at one of Sera’s jokes, unable to resist the smile as she stuck her tongue out at Varric. Bull’s hand came down upon her shoulder, and this time she didn’t flinch. Looking out across the hall, she saw a place fit for an Inquisition. For an army that had to be a beacon of hope to all of Thedas.

 

Maybe she would leave, maybe she wouldn’t; there was always the choice. For once she felt content, no longer straddling panic and fear, letting it cloud her mind. For once, she could _breathe_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no see, sorry about that, but the ball is still rolling slow and steady on this. Thanks for sticking with me, as always love your comments, questions, and concerns! Happy (belated) Valentines day!


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